


What We Ache For

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author’s Note, Affectionate Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bisexual Dean, Body Worship, Bottom Dean, Castiel loves dogs, Consent, Cuddling and Snuggling, Dean bottoms for the first time, Demisexual Castiel, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Homeless Castiel, Hugs, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Dean, M/M, Making Love, Police Officer Dean, Public Display of Affection, Romance, Sex Work, Sex Worker Castiel, Supportive Sam, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 93,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Working as a prostitute (that’s ‘sex worker’ to the decent folks), Castiel has heard more than his fair share of odd requests. When he’s paid to spend a night with Dean Winchester (handsome, dork of all dorks, has a nice car... secretly a cop), the last thing Castiel expects to hear are the words “I wanna make love.” That's the one thing he’s never done before – so Dean is going to show him how to do it. But then, barely a month after that night is over, Castiel finds himself in a difficult situation, and Dean is mistakenly summoned to help. They begin to share again: Dean’s apartment, the spare bed, their deepest secrets. Over time, with the support of Dean’s brother Sam, a mystery dog, and lots of cuddles, kisses, comfort, and tea, maybe Cas can finally be loved the way he deserves.





	1. A Strip Club Named Spank

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** I’m going to over-warn, because even though the overall tone of this fic is sweet and upbeat, there’s a whole host of potentially triggery things in here. Past Cas/multiple people, mostly men (sexual only). Past Dean/multiple people, mostly women (romantic and sexual). Toxic work environments presented as normal situations, for both Dean and Cas. Hints of police corruption. Enslavement of sex workers in a trafficking ring as an underlying plot point. Dean initially believes that sex workers need to be ‘saved’ (refuted later). Non-detailed mentions and implications of past rape and sexual abuse (Cas and other sex workers). Cas is the victim of a violent mugging, resulting in concussion and temporary amnesia. Dean is subject to workplace sexual harassment by Abbie (a humanised Abaddon). Mentions of Castiel’s long-term financial squalor, homelessness, neglectful child care on his parents’ part, and implied PTSD - including panic attacks. Contains discussions about dubious consent between Dean and Cas (but Cas confirms his consent weeks afterwards). One instance of suicidal ideation (Cas), several non-explicit medical references (mostly dog-care-related, some Cas-has-a-concussion-related), a handful of slurs, and past non-explicit animal abuse. Also, this Dean is a very soft Dean. Because life is hard and ain’t nobody got time for repressing nice feelings.
> 
>  **Side pairings:** Mick Davies/Donna Hanscum, Rowena/Clea, and Sam/Eileen right near the end.
> 
>  
> 
> In May 2014, a list of very specific prompts was assigned to me by [cassammydean](http://cassammydean.tumblr.com/), who was a stranger to me at the time. Throughout the three years I’ve known her, writing, researching for, re-writing, and editing this fic, she’s become one of my best friends. Knowing her so well has helped me shape this story in ways I wouldn’t have been able to do for a stranger. I hope you love it, Roo. ♥
> 
> Beta’d in 2014 by [selfihateyouithink](http://selfihateyouithink.tumblr.com/) and [thewonderofliving](https://thewonderofliving.tumblr.com/), and in 2017 by [cersei-the-truth-bombardier](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) and my dear sister, [sweetdreamspootypie](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/). Despite my three years of sporadic research, this fic would not be as socially-conscious as I pray it is now, had it not been for all four of you. Your suggestions helped elevate this story well beyond my own capabilities and awareness of the world. Thank you.
> 
> Shoutout to Lady Eternal, whom I met at DestielCon 2014. She praised me for keeping Dean in character and never “putting him in an apron” in my stories. I didn’t mention it at the time, but secretly, I had this fic sitting in my drafts. There is an apron.

          It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.  
          I want to know what you ache for,  
          and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.  
          ...  
          It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.  
          I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;  
          if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul;  
          if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.  
           **― Oriah Mountain Dreamer, _The Invitation_**

 

**[ 1 new message! ]**

Dean sucked his fingertip clean of batter, then wiped his hand down his apron as he reached into its pocket. He flipped his cellphone open and read the message.

**[ 3of3 Im really sorry, ok? It’s just not a path i want to take. ]**

What? Alarm bells rang in Dean’s head, and he stood up straighter, scrolling to the bottom of the text to see who sent it. Marley.

But... what the hell was she apologising for?!

The phone buzzed twice more, making Dean’s palm tingle. He selected the new messages and skimmed them quickly.

**[ 1of3 Hey Dean. Hope ur doing ok. I’m going to have to cancel 2nites date. I dont have a good excuse, and I know i’m a coward for doing this ]**

**[ 2of3 in a txt message, but honestly, it’s been a week and I’m not feeling it. This wasnt really destined to work, Dean. ]**

Dean swallowed hard, eyes glancing over the recipe book and the bowls of half-mixed batter laid out on the kitchen worktop. His heart was somewhere down by his knees now. He put his phone back in his apron and sighed, reaching to pick up the wooden spoon so he could keep stirring. But his hand wouldn’t move.

Exhaustion took over from his head downwards, washing through his blood like a ghostly waterfall. His eyes went out of focus and he bowed his head, starting to hurt.

Marley was the third girl this month. Not that he was counting, not that each girl had a number. Except he was, and they did. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d known all along that was the problem.

Trying too hard.

Dean slammed the spoon into the batter so it slopped over onto the side, and in a boiling fit of frustration, he wrenched his apron over his head and tossed it into the batter too. He kicked the cupboard door for good measure; the towel hooks rattled and the dishcloths fell to the floor.

Dean looked at the mess where a moment ago there had been hope, and he put a hand over his face. He had a headache.

The phone buzzed again, but this time it didn’t end with a simple vibration. It blared with an imperative force, spinning around on the worktop, barely protected from the spreading gloop by the apron fabric. Dean set his jaw tight and grabbed for the infernal contraption, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

“What?” he demanded.

A husky but feminine voice trickled through the speaker. “ _Ooh, someone took the wrong happy pills._ ”

Dean wilted on his feet, turning around and heading out of the kitchen, rubbing his temples with his fingers and thumb. “I’m having a disappointing day, that’s all. What’s up, Donn?”

“ _It’s Saturday, stud. Call me Abbie. If you call me ‘Donn’ one more time while we’re off-duty, I’m putting you in solitary._ ”

“Funny.” Dean breathed a mirthless laugh, flopping down into Sam’s wheely computer chair, propelling himself in a circle with his heels. “I kind of feel like I’m in solitary already.”

“ _How so?_ ”

Dean groaned dismissively. “Nothing. Just, uh...” He leaned back in his chair and stared at the translucent ceiling, where the shadows of rain on the grimy plastic made moving patterns. “Some girl dumped me again.”

“ _Aww, hon._ ”

A smile pinched the corner of Dean’s lips. “It’s no big deal. I’m growing a thick hide.”

“ _Well, you ought to wear something snazzy to show off that thick hide tonight. Captain and the boys are going out, and you’re meeting us there._ ”

Dean sat up slowly. “Where are you going?”

“ _Spank. Centre of East, around the corner from that crappy theatre we went for Joe’s thirty-first._ ”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Spank... Isn’t that a strip club?”

Abbie laughed, enchanting and dangerous – like she often was. “ _Rendezvous at eight._ ” Then she hung up, and Dean was left with his mouth open, unasked questions caught in his throat.

He exhaled and let his phone close on his thumb. Pushing his hand back through his tufty, half-dry hair, he considered he might actually do well getting himself a lapdance, and nosediving into the mindless, lust-driven blowing of cash for a night. Whenever love failed, lust was a good fallback for him.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

The hard floor of Spank pounded under Dean’s feet, the beat of the music getting into his head. He still had a stress headache, and it didn’t help that the strobe lights changed colour too quickly. There were dozens of people in the club already, and some of them looked his way in interest. Feeling overdressed next to the skimpy tank tops and short skirts, he tugged at his plaid overshirt, rolling up the sleeves so they tucked behind his elbows.

He spied Captain Mills with Abbie Donn and the boys across the room, lounging in what looked like a seating segment from a diner, complete with a round table and high-backed leather seats. They were leaning towards each other, deep in conversation, apparently undisturbed by the bassline. Their forms shimmered in the moving disco lights as the beams swept the room. Dean took a deep breath (which smelled of beer and floor polish and sweat), and began to make his way towards them.

The heat of dancing bodies swelled more each step he took; it wasn’t even that crowded, but in order to get to his colleagues on the other side of the dancefloor, he had to mingle.

A woman with false eyelashes and glitter in zebra stripes over her cheeks caught Dean’s eye. Her pupils were dilated, lips parted. Dean felt a pulse of desire, but beyond a smile and a touch to her hip as he passed, he left her alone. She looked high, and Dean wasn’t that sort of guy.

Someone grabbed his ass, and his reflex was to turn around and imprison their wrist in his hand. It was a twinky Latino guy with spiked blonde hair, startled and clearly scared at being caught. Dean eased his grip but didn’t let go. “What’s your deal?” he asked the kid.

The kid’s lower lip shifted as he murmured something, and his eyes turned down to his secured hand. Dean looked down too, and saw his own police badge in its folding wallet in the kid’s palm. Dean let go of his wrist and snatched the badge. “You think you can just go around pinching people’s things outta their pockets, huh?”

The kid looked more spooked. “No! No, I― It was falling out!”

“Sure it was,” Dean sneered... then realised the kid might be telling the truth, since it had happened before. Dean kept forgetting not to put the badge in his butt pocket when he drove – the leather seats in his car tended to pull the leather protector out. Dean gave the kid a smile. “Uh. Thanks.”

The kid didn’t smile back. “You’re a cop.”

“Yeah – no shit, kid. Bet you’re getting straight As in school, huh? Smart-ass.”

“I have a GED,” the kid retorted, “and it’s none of your business.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. Getting lip from strangers was more surprising when they knew what he did for a living. It was like they didn’t care he was a policeman, and Dean was never ready to be that humbled.

Shaking his head, Dean flipped his badge shut and stowed it in the right front pocket of his jeans. He patted the kid on his bicep, but before he turned to leave he said, “Kid, some advice. Go to college, get a degree. Right now you’re halfway towards winning or losing, and even if you think nobody cares... I care. All right?”

The kid scoffed; Dean’s words were laughable to him. Dean couldn’t be bothered convincing him, so he turned away and kept going. Sooner or later the kid would hear him. They didn’t always, but sometimes they did.

Dean approached the captain’s table with a put-on swagger, acting like the cocky leader he was at work. “Hey, guys,” he said, sweeping down to sit beside Brock. “How goes the night?”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel rested his chin on his bare knee, blankets pooled around his hips. His ass stung, but he’d put some ointment on it, so it wouldn’t bother him in a few minutes. He dazedly thumbed through the cash in his hands, sighing through his nose.

Clarissa strode in from the hallway, fiddling with her garter strap. “You doing okay?” she asked him as she tucked her sleek brunette hair behind her ear cuff.

“Yes,” Castiel said. His voice was tired and deeper than usual. “I’m doing all right. Three hundred so far. Not expecting anything spectacular for tonight, but I’ll see how it goes.”

Clarissa straightened up slowly, adjusting her hair again. She had a careful, almost amused look in her eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, peaches.”

“What wasn’t?”

“I didn’t mean the money, I meant you. How are you doing?”

Castiel looked up with a curious frown. “I’m fine?”

“You look like you’re about to cry.”

Castiel managed a smile to defuse her suspicion, then he turned his eyes back to the wad of cash he held. “The last john rode too hard. I told him more lube, and...” Castiel rubbed his thumbnail against his forehead. “Well, apparently he liked it motionless.”

“Shit. That’s a bitch.”

Castiel took a deep breath, not raising his eyes. “Yes, I suppose.”

“I have a dance now – fifteen bucks says a client will follow me back. Hey, could you change the top sheet on that bed? Hannah’s got the next room and Jen is still asleep. God, she’s such a _cat_.”

“Jen?”

“Yeah. At least the rest of us learned how to wake up when the club opens for the night, but she’s still snoozing. It’s a wonder she gets any clients at all, you know? Nobody sees her awake but Mama. Sometimes I think Mama’s just grooming Jen for auction, she’s not even―” Clarissa cut herself off there, puffing out a great big sigh instead. “Whatever, it’s her life. If she wants to waste it not making money, that’s her problem. Me, I’ve got the opening dance. Yay!”

“Congratulations,” Castiel said, closing his eyes and wincing as he dragged himself to the edge of the bed. He grunted as he got up, setting his bare feet on the floor. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Clarissa said, trotting up to Castiel in her Pleaser heels, now two inches taller than him. She leaned down to put a lipsticked kiss on his cheek, and Castiel rumbled a quiet laugh.

Castiel watched Clarissa sway out of backroom #3 and down the fluorescent-lit hallway that led back to the main hall. She would take the exit that led to the stage. Castiel heard the music change to a deep thrum, growling through the walls – that was Clarissa’s cue; she would part the curtains and stride out to dance, not as Clarissa, but as Magi.

Still naked, Castiel hid his money in his fake toothpaste tube, put the tube in his bag, then stripped the bed of soiled sheets, peeling the lube-tacky cotton off the rubber protector underneath. He tossed the sheets in the laundry and fetched the cleaning agents, spraying everything he remembered touching, and then some. He wiped it all down, aching from the shoulders, from the hips. His ass still burned.

He heard giggling from the hallway, and leaned back to see Susan hurrying down the hall with a client’s hand in her own. The guy was bearded and well-built, certainly strong enough to overpower Susan if he wanted. Castiel felt a pang of worry, as he always did.

The man caught sight of him as he passed the open door, and he paused, looking at Castiel. To Susan, the man said, “You have guy whores here too?”

Castiel’s stomach churned at the word ‘whore’, but Susan laughed the question off and pulled the man into the next room so Castiel didn’t have to think about how to react. He heard their fumbling and their elbows bumping on the walls where Jen slept. Jen would be forced to wake up so Susan could use the bed. Castiel wanted to feel sympathy for Jen, knowing what it was to be tired, but he couldn’t. He was grouped in with the other girls here, he needed to sympathise with _them_ , lest he wander into the view of an uncomfortable crosshair. He needed friends; without friends he was on his own.

Castiel padded across the hallway, not caring if anyone saw him naked. He went into the tiled room with three showers and he picked the one closest to the door so he didn’t have to walk any more. Hot water was a blessing.

He towelled dry when he was done, then went back and re-covered the bed with the fresh sheets Mama had brought by while Castiel had been showering.

Then he got dressed, grunting as the stretch made painful twinges sear up his muscles like flares. He put on fresh boxers and his tightest black jeans, frayed at the knees and the thighs, followed by a basic black tee, the same as he always wore. It was much simpler to buy replacements when he didn’t need to think about what to buy. Always the same medium size, always the same colour and brand.

He put on his leather boots, sockless, leaving the laces untied but safely tucked back, and the tongue flap artfully loose. He went to the sink in the corner of the room. He checked his face in the mirror, and saw the usual lines under his eyes and the plush pink of an emotionless mouth. He filled a glass with water, drank it, then set the glass aside and wandered out towards the door that led to the dancefloor.

Once through the door, the music immediately set him on high alert. This room was a pit full of suckers ready and willing to throw money at anything sexy; Castiel was sexy. He was sexy and available. He prowled the outer rim of the room, easily tossing flirtatious glances at any men who passed. Eyelashes down, lips bitten, smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He got a few interested looks, but then those men returned their attention to the dancers on stage. Women were more exciting to them. Sometimes men were just surprised to be looked at that way by a man; they weren’t really willing to pay for his company.

Castiel leaned on a wall and sighed, watching Clarissa rub her clit against the stripper pole, making sex faces as she bent over backwards to seduce the growing audience. It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, but the peak of the night was approaching. Castiel hoped this wouldn’t be another night that paid out early and kept him around for hours, waiting for nothing. Three hundred bucks was good, but it covered his food, some of his weekly debt repayment, and nothing more. Stasis, it held him in stasis.

That was the problem with being the only male sex worker in an all-girl strip club. Nobody was interested. He didn’t dance, so few men knew he was even here. It was always the regulars back again; new customers only came to him by word of mouth, or―

Or... very purposeful preying on his part.

Castiel had seen a rather lost-looking man standing at the bar, both hands on a martini glass. The man sipped his drink gently, then looked down, pressing his lips together. Castiel was drawn to him, and didn’t bother to wonder why. He had done this for long enough to know to trust himself, to trust his instincts. If his feet wanted to walk towards the lonely martini man, then he would walk.

The dancing crowd parted around him, and he didn’t attempt to flirt when he caught the occasional “Hey precious,” or “Wanna dance, mate?” He kept walking until he’d cleared the dancefloor and made it to the bar.

He rested his elbow on the bartop and arched backwards into a leather-cushioned stool, groaning like he’d been dancing for hours and was exhilarated by it. “Hey... get me an iced beer,” he said to Eric, the barman. “ _Fuck_ , I’m hot.”

The lonely martini man’s eyes flicked over Castiel’s taut form, and Castiel knew he was onto the money. A reply “ _Hot? Yeah, you can say that again,_ ” was in his eyes, even if it never came out of his mouth. Castiel checked him out too, smirking as he saw the martini was in fact ruby-red grapefruit juice. Maybe there was a shot in it, Castiel couldn’t tell.

Eric slid the uncapped beer down the bar and Castiel snatched it and swept it to his lips, sipping the first inch with thirsty revelry, despite not being thirsty at all. He licked his lips (and the bottle opening) once he’d swallowed. “Mm, beautiful,” he breathed, looking at the lonely man’s hardened nipples where they made two tiny shadows in his shirt. His eyes flicked up, and the man hastily looked away, blinking rapidly.

“Aw. Not shy about boys, are you?” Castiel asked quietly, lips curling as he sidled along one seat, his right hip meeting the man’s left. He held onto his beer bottle, and he raised his fingers to the man’s exposed forearms where his shirt was rolled to the elbow. The club’s lights changed too often to let Castiel see the colour of his clothes, but his skin was pale, and his arm was warm and almost free of hair as Castiel stroked his knuckles against it.

The man trembled – actually _trembled_ , shaking his drink in the glass. He muttered something about “I’m not ummm” and “s-sorry”. Castiel couldn’t tell if he was expressing his desire for more touches, or his desire for Castiel to kindly back away.

“Do you like to touch?” Castiel asked, tilting his head curiously, playfully. He knew he looked like a puppy when he did that, so many johns fell for it. Some marys, too. Much of the population liked an intelligent-looking but slightly confused slut, it would seem.

The man’s eyes widened, and he smiled in what seemed like relief. Castiel leaned forward to hear what he was going to say, and the man bent his head to Castiel to tell him in a gruff, friendly voice, “We’re not allowed to touch, man, they’re strippers.”

Castiel stumbled into a laugh, backing off. Apparently he was giving the wrong signals. “Don’t worry,” he said, winking at the man, “I’m not that interested in women.”

The man chuckled. “You’re in the wrong dive, then. There’s a gay bar a couple blocks from here, you might wanna head over there instead. They’ve got cowboys. First drink is free if you bring a hat.”

Castiel shook his head, taking another drag from his beer. “No, I don’t think I’m going anywhere. Not even for cowboys.”

“No?” The man looked up tentatively, as if he was still trying to figure out exactly what Castiel was doing next to him.

“No, I work here,” Castiel said, nodding towards the man. He transferred his beer to his left hand and wiped his right on his shirt, then offered it to the man. “Jimmy.”

The man hesitated, glanced around, then pushed a quick and nervous smile between his full lips. He took Castiel’s hand and shook it. “Dean,” he said. His breath caught, and Castiel frowned questioningly as Dean retrieved his hand. Dean’s smile flickered, and he looked down at his drink. “Sorry, your – uh – your hands are cold. Icy beer.”

Castiel laughed lowly, turning his hips on his seat so they were angled towards Dean. “Apologies. You can blame that one on Eric.”

Dean’s eyes shot back to Castiel’s, a definite shyness tinting his demeanour, if not his cheeks. “S- So what do you do here, exactly?”

Castiel parted his lips and set the bottle to his mouth. “Care to make a guess?” He held Dean’s eye as he sipped.

Dean fiddled with his drink, thinking. Then he shook his head. “Whatever I say is gonna be offensive to someone, so, no.”

Castiel spread his legs apart and planted his body directly against the side of Dean’s hip, almost pushing against him. When Dean’s wide eyes latched onto his and _stared_ , Castiel pursed his lips and smirked. “Care to guess now?”

“Th-th-the― What―” Dean sent a flustered look all around him, swallowing hard as he did. He was looking for someone, panicked; Castiel read the signs and backed away a step in case Dean found who he was looking for. Castiel didn’t need another client accidentally outed while he was on the job; once was too many times.

“I’m, uh― You― I’m―” Dean had completely tripped over his tongue, his eyelids were fluttering and his lips were shaking. His hand tried to grip his glass but he only managed an apologetic smile and – yes, a flash of panic – before his drink topped off the bar and slid down Castiel’s front. The glass tinkled to the floor and rolled away unbroken, but a very wet stain now darkened Castiel’s clothes. And then, Dean was articulate enough to say, “Shit.”

Castiel had rarely seen another man so flustered by his attention. It was almost flattering. “Don’t worry, I can change,” he said, holding out a hand as Dean tried to blot his abdomen with a paper napkin. “Dean? It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just― I’m so fuckin’―”

“Hush,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes as he shoved Dean upright. “I have clothes in the back.” He saw the mixture of eagerness and fear in Dean’s eyes, and decided he would let Dean work out which of his emotions was more alluring. “You can come with me if you want. Help me change. Or not, you could stay here.” He smiled, stroking his palm down Dean’s chest. He could feel a pounding heartbeat. “Your choice.”

He bent down with his ass turned to Dean, picking the fallen glass up from the floor. He put it on the bar for Eric to collect, and with a smile to Dean, bursting with promises, he sauntered away, looking over his shoulder. Dean was the lonely martini-glass man who got flustered when flirted with. Castiel hoped he would follow.

♥

Dean asked for another beer, unsure if Jimmy was coming back for his unfinished bottle. It was still shining with condensation, and Dean could see his handprint in the coloured lights.

With a fresh beer in hand, he sipped it and let the malt flavour caress his tongue and tickle his throat. It wasn’t his usual brand, but it was what Jimmy liked.

Dean had watched him go, watched him stalk off towards that back door over there and have a word with the bouncer, watched him look back one more time before shutting the door. Dean wasn’t going to follow.

Captain Mills came up and perched next to Dean, in the same stool Jimmy had been lounging on a minute ago. “Hey there, Dean,” she said, voice gritty on easy words.

“Heya, Jody,” Dean said. “What’s up?”

“Came to ask you the same question,” Mills smiled, her usually-stern gaze resting fondly on Dean’s. She’d put gel in her tufty, greying hair, spiking it up over her head; Dean noticed eyeliner and mascara where there was usually nothing. “Donn told me you broke up with another girl.”

Dean snorted. He sucked on his tongue for a moment, sour, but admitted, voice quiet, “I took your advice. Tried to, uh... bypass the one-night-stand. Figured maybe we’d connect better over wine and Italian food, see a ball game – that whole ‘dating’ shebang.”

“And?”

Dean pursed his lips, swirling his drink dejectedly. “This time? God. I don’t know if it was me, or the dates, or what, but we’re ‘not destined to be together’. Some shit. I’unno.” He huffed. “Ahh. It’s stupid. Sorry.”

Jody peered at him thoughtfully.

Dean gulped. “Anyway.” He took a sip of his drink, then pretended to shrug away his worries. “So what’s with the outing tonight? Special occasion?”

Jody gave a grim smile. “Could say that. Came out to have a good time, then got a badly-timed briefing over the phone, got told to come here instead. We’re taking this place down at twenty-two-hundred hours. Time now iiiiiis, ooh,” she looked at her watch, a little bracelet, “ten to nine. You’ve got yourself seventy minutes of playtime, Lieutenant.”

“Stripping isn’t illegal,” Dean said, confused. “It’s a money pit, but at least the guys here get something satisfying out of it.”

“Sure,” Jody intoned, crooking a thin eyebrow at Dean. “There’s a brothel in the back. Sources tell me ten o’clock’s the very start of peak time here, barring lunchtime. Full house of johns, full staff of prostitutes. Business up and running. _Loads_ of fun to take down.”

“Jody, c’mon, it’s _Saturday_ ,” Dean complained, resting his forehead in his hand and his elbow on the bar. “I’m off-duty, you’re off-duty. Just let the guys have their fun, it’s harmless.”

Jody laughed, not out of amusement, but out of scorn. “Oh. Harmless. Tell that to the _thousands_ of dead sex workers we get washing up on the riverbanks each year.”

All of Dean’s further complaints lodged in his throat. He shut his eyes, shook his head, and set his beer bottle on his lower lip to swallow down a third of the liquid at once. He held it in his mouth, sighed, then gulped.

With a swish of nose-stinging perfume and a flash of red hair, Dean’s right side was covered by the warmth of his co-worker, Abbie. “‘Sup, Captain,” she called to Jody over Dean’s head. To Dean, she purred, “Winchester.”

Dean grunted.

“Vodka on the rocks,” Abbie crooned to Eric over the bar, lipsticked lips sharp on her smile. “With a baby umbrella. Blood red.”

Jody shifted on Dean’s left. “I was just explaining to Dean the situation we’ve got going.”

“Oh, yeah,” Abbie chuckled. “I’ll take a raid over a rave any night.” She flicked Dean’s ear with her talon-like nails, making him flinch. “Why’d you look so down, pretty-boy? It’s a party.”

Dean sneered, shaking his head. “I dunno. Not really in the mood to work.”

Abbie and Jody shared a _look_ past Dean’s bowed head.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Jody said, reaching to grip Dean’s wrist, giving him a little shake. “You sure you’re all right?”

Dean managed a tense smile. Maybe he could get on board; work always took his mind off life’s problems. “So what’s the deal here? You’re just gonna arrest... everyone who’s backstage?”

Jody nodded, letting go of Dean’s wrist. “That’s the plan. I know you’ve had a rough day, I’m not saying you’re obligated to join in. But since you’re here―”

“No, I wanna go home,” Dean said on impulse. He shot his captain a quick glance, then looked back at his beer, picking at the label with a thumb. “God knows I’m not getting any action tonight. The fun kind, not the work kind.”

“You never know, it might take your mind off Taryn.”

“Marley,” Dean corrected her. “Taryn was last week.”

Abbie sighed, kicking Dean with her stiletto. “Hey. I’ve said it before, but if you’re in need of emotionless, no-strings-attached sex―”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dean said to his co-worker, pointedly. And, he added to himself, emotionless, no-strings-attached sex was literally the opposite of what he wanted. “You go have your fun arresting sex workers, I’ll... I don’t know. Crash out and watch a movie or something.”

“You are the most boring angstfest I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving with, Winchester,” Abbie said witheringly, sliding off her stool and patting Dean firmly on the shoulder. “I’ll be over there, with the real men.”

“See ya, Abbie.”

“See ya, squirt.”

Dean smiled as she left. He shook his head and tipped back another sip of beer.

Jody sighed to his left. Her warm hand rested on his shoulder, putting pressure down as she vacated her stool. “I hope your night improves, Dean,” he said. “You’ve got more than an hour until all hell breaks loose. Dance with someone, all right? At the very least, act like you’re having fun. I don’t wanna arouse any suspicions that the place is crawling with cops.”

“Will do,” Dean said, with wavering intentions. He turned his head to watch Captain Mills return to the others, hailed by a cheer and raised bottles of beer.

Eric glanced at Dean thoughtfully.

Dean stared back. “What? Got something up my nose?”

Eric chuckled, shaking his head as he dried out a glass. “Nah, man,” he said coolly. “Is just, was thinkin’ about the way Jimmy came onta ya. He really went for it, ya know? He don’t do that a whole lot.”

“Doesn’t he?” Dean asked, feeling the flustered sweat and the tension return, now knowing for certain he hadn’t been mistaken. Jimmy had been flirting. A _guy_ had been _flirting_ with _Dean_.

Eric shook his head again. “He took a real shine to ya. Now, I got hired here, what, two months back? Workin’ for the fuzz on the down low these last couple weeks, co-operatin’ soon as they caught wind of Mama’s operation in the back. I been gettin’ to know Jimmy. He ain’t like the chicks here. Not just ‘cause he the only boy, but...” He shrugged boldly, like he was shaking off a coat. “I wouldn’t make him wait for ya and never show up, is all.”

“Hm. Uhh, thanks for the tip,” Dean said awkwardly. “But I’m not about to blow my career over a quick lay.” Heat rushed upwards into his head, and he looked at Eric hastily. “Not that I’m gay! Or that I’d actually sleep with him if I weren’t a cop. I mean― They’re all gonna get arrested in an hour, it’d be stupid. Ev- Even if I took him... to some motel, I mean...”

Eric gave a smooth grin. “Sweet place on fifth, man. Fifty bucks a night, they’re the boil-the-sheets-and-put-a-mint-on-the-pillow proper digs.”

“Yeah?”

Eric nodded slowly, flipping over a glass to pour another customer a drink. “I took a couple girls there last week. Manager don’t ask questions ‘bout no shit. They know what’s happenin’ but, eh, they cool.”

Dean squirmed in his seat, feeling a solid mixture of anticipatory arousal and legitimate _terror_. He’d never done anything so bad since getting his badge. The badge meant he _was_ the law, he wasn’t allowed to break it – no way, no how.

“Point is,” Eric went on, abandoning the other side of the bar, which was heaving with waiting customers, in favour of speaking directly to Dean. “Jimmy wants you, man. That should mean somethin’.”

“Why, though?”

“‘Cause,” Eric said, putting on a small smile, “Jimmy told me he’s one of them people who can’t flirt unless he’s a lil’ way in love, ya know? And even then, only the rarest people ever get him _up_ , know what I’m sayin’? It makes this job hella hard for him. Cap’n Mills is about to flush this place down the crapper – but this place? Jimmy needs this place, man. He can’t work the streets easy like them other folks, not being the way he is. Streetwalking, he don’t get to pick-‘n-choose the way he needs to. It’s sad, man. Real sad.”

Dean didn’t fully understand. But what he _did_ understand was the feeling of protect-and-serve that was written into his programming. Dean had seen it all, and he knew where Jimmy was headed after tonight – if he didn’t end up in jail, that is – if he made it through rehabilitation and was sent out to work in some other field. A black mark for sex work on his permanent record was something destined to keep him stocking shelves forever, or worse, send him right back to the streets. Discomfort summoned a cold lake to the bottom of Dean’s stomach.

He wanted to save every single sex worker who was back there, unaware their worknight was about to end abruptly. But he couldn’t save everyone. Did saving them mean keeping them out of jail, or keeping them out of sex work? It would be different for them all. But Jimmy—? Dean knew something about Jimmy, now. He knew how to save him.

Eric had turned away, going to refill drinks and shake up new ones. He moved like a fluid machine, never losing an order or dropping the shaker.

And Dean... Dean was left alone to his thoughts.

He could buy Jimmy out of here tonight. He didn’t have to sleep with him or anything, just get him somewhere safe.

But God, did Dean even have that kind of strength? He knew he didn’t. From the moment Jimmy had leaned into the stool beside him, Dean had wanted to rock him deep into a bed, stroking and squeezing. Jimmy had been thirsty for beer, but Dean? Dean was thirsty for _him_.

No cash for ass, that was what he always said. It was a crude mantra he’d used as a teenager, then solidified as a personal rule once he became a cop. If someone wasn’t willing to sleep with him for fun, he wouldn’t be getting anything. No cash for ass.

Obviously Dean knew this was a bad idea. But... for once, after years of trying too hard, he figured, hey. For once something might be easy. Money was the simplest price to pay for what he wanted. Jimmy wanted it too – or at least, he wanted the money, since it was his job. Illegal job, whatever. Eric was on the police books and he didn’t have a problem with hiring escorts, so why should Dean?

Well, that was settled.

Dean tipped the dregs of his beer down his throat, slapped a handful of singles to the bartop, then slipped off his stool and headed in the direction Jimmy had gone earlier. It had been a few minutes, but Dean hoped he would still be waiting.

He beelined through the dancefloor, going from the bar to the rear door. He didn’t dance with anyone, didn’t let anyone do more than brush him before he moved on. Free of the tumult of the crowd, he stood in front of the bouncer, a giant with shoulders twice as wide as his waist. Dean offered a twitchy smile. “Jimmy invited me in?”

The bouncer said nothing, but pushed open the door and waited for Dean to go through. Dean took a breath and held it, not entering yet. He looked over his shoulder, then the other, checking for any of his workmates. Oh, this was so dangerous. He didn’t even have a cover story.

He went through the door, fists balled. He swung his hands stiffly back and forth as he entered the corridor and the door to the dancefloor closed behind him, shutting out all but the bassline of the music. Now he heard kissing noises, muffled moans, giggling. A stripper in black garters and heels rested her ass against the wall near the end of the hallway, taking a long drag on a cigarette, then puffing her smoke up into an extractor fan. She eyed Dean, and Dean swallowed. Not meant to be here, not meant to be here.

He went forward, fingers wriggling about. There were plenty of doors leading off this hall, four on the right, three on the left. The first three on the right were closed, and Dean looked into the ones on the left. They were a small kitchen, a toilet with two cubicles, and the third room contained a row of showers. Dean reached the end and smiled at the stripper. “Um. Looking for Jimmy?”

The stripper popped her cigarette out of her mouth and used it to gesture to the fourth door on Dean’s right. Dean took a small breath, but it was tainted with smoke. He cleared his throat rather than coughing, trying to be polite. He leaned in through the open fourth door, and relaxed somewhat when he saw Jimmy standing at a sink, wringing his wet t-shirt free of drips. He was topless, and his back was well-toned, but Dean couldn’t avoid noticing the speckled bruises covering his skin, all of them of varying age.

“Um,” Dean said, ever so quietly.

Jimmy turned around, and a sudden smile lit up his face. “Dean! Oh... Forgive me, I already washed my clothes... I thought you weren’t coming.” He was wearing a fresh pair of jeans, Dean noticed.

“Well... I did come,” Dean said, grinning slightly at the other man.

“Good.”

Dean wet his lips with his tongue, exhaling slowly as he went into the room. He looked around. There was one lampshade above, dingy and white. A utilitarian bed was tucked on the left with one bleached sheet over it, right beside a shelf with lubrication and a bowl of condoms. Beside that was a laundry hamper with a lid.

Jimmy stood shaking out the wrinkles from his wet shirt, and Dean watched him turn around and hang it on the heating bar near the window. The curtains were taped shut.

“Can I ask,” Dean said, fiddling with the badge in his front pocket, “h- how much for one night?”

Jimmy looked up, apparently surprised. “Oh... Um, seven hundred for a night. Extras on request.”

God, he sounded like an ATM receipt. And that thought immediately reminded Dean that if he was going to do this, he would need to stop at an ATM.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, looking at the floor. It was grey and stained. He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to convince himself he _had_ to do this, not only because he needed it so badly, but because Jimmy’s future depended on it. “Can we― Can I take you to a motel?”

Jimmy’s expression became guarded, the seduction in his eyes turning to hesitation. But he looked away, then looked back, and now seemed relieved. “Of course. It’s one hundred dollars extra. Eight hundred total.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He supposed the extra cost was meant as incentive to stay within the brothel, where there were bouncers, and other people for protection. But Dean couldn’t stay. So he nodded, agreeing to the extra cost. When Jimmy smiled, Dean grinned. Jimmy had such a nice smile, wrinkling crow’s feet beside his mouth. The creases showed his age; he had to be in his mid-thirties, same as Dean.

“Can we go now?” Dean said.

Jimmy smiled again. “Let me get my bag.”

“And a shirt,” Dean joked, eyes following Jimmy to a cupboard on the far right of the room. Jimmy chuckled, opening a keypad-locked cupboard to reveal a set of stacked bags, and he pulled out the only dark-coloured one from between pink, yellow, and floral ones. His was a small black duffel. He put it on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out a shirt exactly like the one Dean had stained with his drink.

Dean watched Jimmy’s back muscles move in their sleek, masculine way as he pulled his shirt over his head. He grunted like he was in pain, and Dean started forward, a hand reaching out in concern. “You okay?”

Jimmy looked at Dean quickly, putting on an obviously fake smile. “I’m fine. We should go quickly, shouldn’t we?”

“Sure,” Dean said, glancing towards the door. “You got a back door? My – friends, they’re in the front, it would be better they didn’t see me leave with you.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows, and he leaned in close – _so_ close. Dean smelled shampoo, and a citrus tang. “For you, Dean,” Jimmy growled in his unearthly deep voice, “my back door is open.”

Definitely the weirdest sexy thing ever whispered into Dean’s ear. Dean gulped and eased away, tugging on Jimmy’s fingertip so he followed. “Let’s go?”

Jimmy smirked, slung his bag over his shoulder and went ahead, leading Dean to the right, continuing down the corridor, then to the left. Dean hadn’t realised it went around a corner. He looked back, and saw the smoking stripper he’d talked to was gone.


	2. What We Ache For

Dean told Castiel to stay put while he got money out of the ATM. They were double-parked, but Castiel supposed it was excusable, since the traffic was barely moving. Castiel sat patiently in the car’s passenger seat and tucked his hands under his arms, feeling cold. He didn’t have a jacket. That was definitely something he needed to buy; as the summer decayed, the weather was getting colder and rainier by the day, and while bare arms were alluring, frostbite was less so.

Right now, cars ahead of Dean’s vehicle were beeping and honking impatiently, their red taillights glaring at everyone else who was stuck even deeper in the gridlock. Castiel was impressed Dean had managed to find a parking space for this car when he’d visited Spank – it was a large car, bigger on the inside than it looked from a distance. It was gleaming and black; Castiel didn’t know what make or model it was, but it smelled of leather, engine oil, and popcorn.

Castiel looked to his left, seeing the bank’s gleaming spotlights pinpointing Dean’s location. He wasn’t wearing a jacket either, but he had a plaid overshirt, and he didn’t seem cold. From behind, and from so many feet away, Castiel observed the outward bowing of Dean’s legs. His knees were bent a little, like he was straddling something invisible. It was strangely attractive.

The cars began to shift ahead in the chain, and Castiel sat up straighter, trying to see how soon they would have to move. Only moments later, feet of space appeared in front of Dean’s car, and the space only grew. Then it stopped. Then it grew again, and the cars behind Castiel seemed to have realised they were just sitting there.

Castiel wound down the window and leaned out to shout to Dean. “The traffic is moving!”

Dean looked over his shoulder, then back to the machine, moving his arms in a hurry-up-please motion. Castiel watched the traffic pull away into the distance, and he cringed at the honking and blaring from the cars behind. Dean started bobbing up and down at the ATM, babbling something incomprehensible at it.

Castiel sat back in the leather seat and decided there was little point getting worked up. Dean would get back eventually, and they would catch up with the traffic. But then he was shoved out of his thoughts but a very brutal _push_ , and the sound of rubber hitting metal. Dean’s idling car was unwillingly shoved several feet down the road by the Jeep behind it, and Dean spun around at the ATM, bellowing, “YOU FUCKING DID _NOT_.”

Castiel sighed, pressing fingers and a thumb against his eyes. “Oh yes, they fucking did,” he muttered to himself.

He groaned as he heard a lot of back-and-forth outside the open window, the driver behind Dean’s car clearly as angry as Dean was. Castiel growled, glaring at the driver of the Jeep in the rear-view mirror. He disliked whoever they were on principle.

Dean finally thrust a dismissive hand in the other driver’s direction, gathered up his money, shoved it between his teeth, then ran towards the car. He flipped the other driver off as he got back into his seat. As soon as the door was closed, he released the handbrake and hit the gas. The wheels squealed, and Castiel was thrown deeply into his seat as sudden G-force held him down. The engine roared like an everlasting tiger growl as it tore down the street, outspeeding the other driver within seconds. The rest of the traffic fell behind, and Dean pulled the money from his teeth to laugh as the burst of speed gave him a spark in his eyes. “Whoo!”

He turned to Castiel, and Castiel smiled back. “You like driving fast, Jimmy?”

Castiel grinned. “I like going fast in this car. I don’t know about other cars.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I don’t get taken to motels much.”

“Bummer.”

Castiel chuckled. “Yeah. What kind of car is this?”

“‘67 Chevy Impala,” Dean said, looking intently at Castiel before turning his eyes back to the road. “You like her, huh?”

“It― She’s beautiful,” Castiel said, caressing the dashboard. “Forty-seven years old. She looks new.”

Dean’s eyes sparkled some more, proud. “Thanks, man! It’s good upkeep, that’s all. Same goes for humans, you know? Eat your wheaties, change the oil out. Shower twice a month.”

Castiel spluttered, then realised Dean was joking.

Dean grinned widely. “I got a thing for old tech. Vintage car. Mint condition tape deck – don’t fix what ain’t broke, you know? I got a flip phone back in ‘03, it worked good for me so,” he shrugged, “just keep buyin’ the same model on Ebay. Who needs apps, am I right?”

With a smile, Castiel showed Dean his Nokia 3310, in its original dark blue casing. “It’s never failed me once in eleven years.”

Delight lit up Dean’s eyes. He was about to reply, when he glanced back to the road and slowed down at a turn. “He’s the motel. Eric said here’s good. You been here before?”

Castiel looked up at the white building, glowing in the golden upward lighting. 1920s-style small-caps lettering adorned front and centre, announcing its name as _Augury Motel_. “Never,” Castiel said. He felt hopeful; this place didn’t look like a dump.

“Awesome,” Dean said, pulling into the first parking spot he found. “I’ll go book us a room. Hey, what size bed do you like? Normally, that is. Like, with... with guys. Or whoever you usually, um...”

Castiel smiled gently. “A queen or a king would be nice.”

Dean grinned, a bashful quirk of his lips. “Be right back. Come wait out here, it’s stopped raining.”

Castiel got out, leaving Dean to lock the car. Castiel rested his ass on the door as Dean sneered at the damage to the rear of his vehicle, muttering “Sorry, baby,” as he stroked the hood. He then went off to the office, looking back again and again, like he was afraid Castiel would run off. What would be the point in running off? Dean still had all his money, and Castiel wasn’t going to get it unless he did what he was meant to do.

Castiel sighed and leaned back, looking up at the stars. It was nice to see them peeking through the drifting clouds, offering tiny pinpricks of goodness in an otherwise shrouded sky. Castiel’s life probably had less pinpricks of goodness than there were stars out tonight.

Castiel clenched his buttocks, wincing when it hurt. How was he ever meant to explain to Dean he couldn’t do what he usually did? This could all turn out to be pointless, and Castiel would end up walking back to the club alone. Again.

He set his face in his hands, letting his walls come down for a moment. It went beyond physical pain. He was _tired_. He was so tired it seemed like too much effort to bother breathing, or to bother _thinking_ about breathing. He still didn’t know where his daily motivation was coming from. It seemed like a miracle he was even standing at all.

Wrenching in a breath of fresh air, Castiel coaxed up a smile. He was going to put out tonight even if it made him scream. So long as he could turn the scream into something that sounded like pleasure, it would be fine. It was going to be _fine_.

While had a moment of privacy, he unzipped a side pocket in his bag, reaching for a fresh blister pack of Viagra. He popped out one 25mg pill, and tipped it back into his mouth. He swallowed it dry, still watching the stars. This was his second pill today. He made a habit of taking small doses – enough to prevent embarrassment when faced with a client, but he rarely took enough to be considered an overdose. Only on special occasions. Tonight, he was taking it a little late – he should’ve downed it about an hour ago. If Dean asked questions about why his touches weren’t doing anything for Castiel, Castiel planned to blame it on too much beer.

Dean came out of the motel office with a key in his hand. His eyes went directly to Castiel, and he smiled when he saw he was still here. “C’mon,” Dean called, waving him over. “Room eighteen. Up the stairs.”

Castiel took the stairs first, but then then he felt a hand touch his own, and he looked down to see Dean peering up at him with wonder in his eyes. He had green eyes, Castiel saw them clearly as Dean trotted up the stairs to overtake and lead. Wonderful green eyes.

Once the two of them were on the top level, Dean checked the room numbers while walking ahead, looking over the side of the railing, then back to the door numbers. His fingers were twisted between Castiel’s, holding his hand.

He walked, and he looked back over his shoulder. Bright eyes. His freckled skin shone in the lights positioned over each door. Then he glanced at the door numbers, hands holding tight.

As if unable to resist, he snuck one more look over his shoulder. He gave Castiel a smile. A very, very sweet smile.

Castiel squeezed on Dean’s hand, and was still smiling when Dean turned to look at door numbers once more.

“This is us,” Dean said, hand slipping away from Castiel’s to fiddle with the key and the lock. He got the door open, and flipped on the light. Castiel followed him in, and sighed in delight as he saw a full king-sized bed with detailed white covers that hung down to the clean carpet at the bed’s corners, a nightstand on either side of the headboard, as well as an ensuite bathroom on the far side of the room.

Dean closed the door behind Castiel, eyes on him. “Is it okay?”

Castiel nodded eagerly. “It’s perfect.”

Dean grinned. “Groot.” Then he blanched. “Fuck. That― That was good. Good and great. And I... I fucked up.”

Castiel laughed, a sound that tumbled up from his chest and made his eyes feel tight. He didn’t know why Dean amused him, but he did. Dean exhaled bashfully, shaking his head as he wandered away towards the bathroom. “Um. Can— Can I get you anything? Water, or soda? There’s a vending machine outside, um...”

“Water would be good, thank you,” Castiel said. “I’ll freshen up while you’re gone.”

Dean stuck his hands in his back pockets, rocking on his heels and pressing his lips tight. “Mm-hm. Okay. Yeah. I’m― I’ll―” He waved towards the door, then frowned and followed his own gesture. “Back in two.”

Castiel exhaled when he was alone in the room.

He pulled out his Nokia and sent a quick text to Mama. The message let her know his current location, and that he was okay. He even added a smiley face, because Dean was charming, and Castiel was actually surprised to think it. He hadn’t known what to expect, but... well, now he knew what Dean was like, he couldn’t have really expected anything else. Dean was a complete dork, and Castiel enjoyed that a great deal.

Castiel set his phone down on the nightstand, smiling subtly. He then put his bag on the bed and went to the bathroom to wash his face and hands, checking his teeth and tongue in the mirror. He fingered the darkened dips under his eyes, wishing he could wash them away. But they stayed. He sighed – but was surprised to see his smile remained, somehow.

Good, great. Groot. (He chuckled.)

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Dean waited outside the room, while the bottle of chilled water he held made his hand numb. What the hell was he doing? What if he got caught? What if Eric rolled on him?

Dean shut it out of his mind. He’d deal with that if it happened. In the meantime, he’d gotten this far, it seemed like a waste to back out now. Eric was right, there was something special about Jimmy. Dean... God, he didn’t get it, but Dean _liked_ him. And that gave him all the more reason to do what he came here to do. To ask what he came here to ask.

To finally get what he’d wanted for years.

_Years_. Wasn’t that just disheartening? Was he _that_ unlovable? Apparently so.

Dean opened the motel door, then gasped when he saw Jimmy was doing his belt up. “Oh― Sorry, I should’ve knocked.”

“You’re going to see me naked in a minute,” Jimmy said, brushing his dark hair back off his forehead.

Dean shuffled, finally closing the door. “I got your water.”

“Thank you,” Jimmy said, catching it as Dean tossed it to him. “Did you get one for yourself too?”

“Do I need one?”

“You may get thirsty later.”

“I think they have cups in these places. And sinks,” Dean said, gesturing at the tiny kitchenette divided from the bathroom by a wall. The light above the microwave was off, so the corner was in shadow.

“Ah,” Jimmy said. He put on a small smile, sitting down at the end of the bed. He seemed to wince, and slowly stood up again, his smile fixed on his face.

“Dude, seriously, are you okay? You keep flinching.”

“I am absolutely fine, Dean. There is nothing to worry about.”

Dean stepped forward, looking at the other man carefully. He was about the same height as Dean – probably in the same weight class, too. His shoulders were not as wide, but his hips were wider. He was slender and blocky, and Dean realised he found him tremendously attractive. That was not a new realisation, but it was more pronounced than before. It wasn’t pure lust, it was _attraction_. Like a magnet. The way a magnet wanted to grasp onto another special magnet and never let go.

“Did someone hurt you?” Dean asked gently, under his breath.

Jimmy looked down at the floor. His voice came out brisk and cracking as he said, “My job... entails plenty of things which could lead to physical injury. But no.” He looked up, and met Dean’s gaze with defiant blue eyes. “Nobody hurt me intentionally.”

Dean didn’t even need to read between the lines. “Then you are hurt.”

“It is of no consequence to you.”

“Yes, it is,” Dean insisted, stepping right up to Jimmy and taking his hand. He had soft hands, elegantly toned. Dean squeezed. “I can’t do this if you won’t tell me what hurts, Jimmy. I seriously do _not_ want to hurt you any more. There’s this thing we learn in our first―”

He’d been about to say ‘cop’. First lessons as a cop.

He couldn’t say that. Jimmy would freak and take off. This scenario was a sex worker’s nightmare, being picked up by a cop. But usually the cops meant to arrest them, not sleep with them. Not take them out of harm’s way so they _weren’t_ arrested. (Again: what in the _hell_ was Dean doing?)

“Learn what?” Jimmy asked, lowering his head to catch Dean’s turned-down eyes. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips. “I learned early on, communication is a top priority. If you don’t communicate right, if you don’t tell people the shit that matters, all hell breaks loose. You can’t just hide pain. Believe me, I―” Dean scoffed breathily, dropping his chin against his chest. “I used to do it a lot. Bottle things up and not tell anyone. I hid a broken leg for almost two days once on a – training mission.”

“Oh, you’re in the army?”

Dean exhaled. Awesome, Jimmy had provided his cover story. “Yeah. Wait, no! I mean, Marines. My dad was a Marine, I figured I’d follow where the old man led me. But, uh...” He sucked his lips between his teeth. “Basically, Jimmy. My point? Tell me what hurts. I can’t exactly fix it but I sure as hell don’t wanna poke it.”

Jimmy lowered his eyes and turned away completely, and Dean realised, after a second of feeling rejection, that Jimmy was trying to spare Dean from seeing whatever emotion was coming up. Jimmy’s deep voice came over his shoulder along with a sad smile. “You may be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised you my back door, and... heh.”

Jimmy’s shoulders rolled, and his fingers showed around his elbows as he folded his arms, making himself smaller.

“Jimmy,” Dean started to smile. He went forward and touched Jimmy’s lower back, feeling the warmth of him. He breathed over his shoulder, feeling his magnetic pull. Unable to resist, he put a single kiss on Jimmy’s bare neck. His nose touched skin, then he pulled away before he could do too much. “Listen, we don’t need to do, um, that kinda thing. There’s other ways – plenty of ways we could get to know each other.”

Jimmy took a deep breath, tilting his head back. He nodded, and Dean let him have a few seconds to return to a neutral emotion. It was all an act, Dean knew it was a confidence game, but he couldn’t help but think there was real hurt in this man. He didn’t seem to have a shell as tough as the women he worked with. Whatever shield was there, it was worn thin and ragged. Dean knew the look of men at their wit’s end, and Jimmy was one of them.

♥

Castiel turned around with a renewed purpose. “Eight hundred up front,” he said, glad when Dean immediately reached for his wallet. “You don’t need to worry about me running off with the cash, I fully intend to squeeze more out of you as the night goes on.” He winked. He’d learned that the wink turned the statement from a threat into a flirtatious joke; he’d done it wrong at first, and was very glad Clarissa had taught him the right way.

Dean handed over a neat stack of twenty-dollar bills – mostly new, pleasantly clean money, along with some wrinkled bills that had presumably already been in Dean’s wallet. Castiel counted it carefully, then nodded and went to put it in his bag. Dean sat heavily at the foot of the bed, running a palm over his mouth.

Castiel kept his eye on Dean while he dug in his bag for the fake toothpaste tube. “I have to ask, do you have any STDs or other health risks I should be made aware of?”

Dean glanced up but didn’t meet Castiel’s eye, shaking his head. “Nah. I, uh. I get tested pretty regularly. Come in contact with blood at work sometimes. I’m clean.”

Castiel nodded, zipping his bag back up. Then he looked Dean in the eye and smiled, blinking slowly. “Now,” he said, eyes roaming the other man’s freckled face, “tell me what you would like, and we’ll go about making your fantasy a reality.”

Dean’s breath fluttered out of him, and he leaned further over his thighs, rubbing his open hands down his jeans. “Uhhh,” he said, licking his lips twice. “Okay. So, um. So I’ve actually never done this before. Honest-to-God, I’m not sure if I even should.”

“That’s all right, it doesn’t take much to get the hang of it. I can guide you if you need to.” He tilted his head, pushing a knee against Dean’s. “I’ve done this a lot.”

“I know,” Dean breathed. He cupped his fingers over his lips and blew, blasting air between the small gaps between his knuckles. He let his hand fall, and he shut his eyes tightly. “Okay, theoretically, if we did actually maybe go ahead with this? Uh. What I want is... It’s kind of specific, and... maybe a bit... weird.”

“Believe me, Dean, you don’t need to be shy. There’s nothing, no request I haven’t heard before.”

Dean rocked forward, nibbling on his lips. “I, um.” He gulped. Then looked up and met Castiel’s gaze with pleading in his eyes. “I wanna make love.”

No request Castiel hadn’t heard before, except that one.

“Oh,” Castiel said. His eyelids flickered, processing what Dean meant. The thing was, he wasn’t sure. “Could you be more specific?”

A brief dismay crossed Dean’s expression. “You know― Like. Kissing and... stuff. Slowly.”

Castiel laughed, he couldn’t help it. “‘Kissing and stuff’ is how sex was first explained to me by a school friend when I was six years old,” he said. “But, Dean, I have to tell you... I don’t kiss.”

“You don’t... what?”

“I don’t kiss clients. Not on the lips.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the carpet. “Oh,” he said, lips rounded. He frowned, chin lowering. “Okay. That’s... that’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s cool. You’ve got boundaries and stuff. Obviously. Should’ve known that.”

“If you explain exactly what you want, perhaps we could find a way that suits us both. What was it you said, about communication?”

“Top priority,” Dean said, giving a nod. He smiled a real smile, and turned his head towards the bed, indicating Castiel should sit beside him. He sat, and Dean reached for his left hand straight away, wanting to slip their fingers together. “This might take me a bit to get out,” he warned, blinking a few times. “I’ve never talked to anyone about this.”

“That’s why you chose an escort, isn’t it?” Castiel asked. “Other people weren’t willing to listen.”

Dean grinned breathily. “Yeah. That is _exactly_ it.” He looked over at Castiel warmly, a nice tilt on his lips. “It’s other people. It’s not me. God, it’s _so_ not me that’s the problem.”

“So,” Castiel prompted.

Dean nodded. “All right. So, kissing’s out, so is – um, penetration. I guess that leaves...” He _blushed_. “Cuddling. And oral, and all sorts of touching. And some kind of fancy pillow talk, I guess.”

Castiel smiled. It seemed like this was going to be the easiest night he’d had in years. “Anything else?”

“Actually, yeah. There’s this thing I like...”

“Mm?”

“Where you’d say, like... really nice things to me, while we do it. Just, I don’t know – make me feel really good. Emotionally. Not just getting off, that’s not what I want.”

Castiel nodded, understanding. “You’d like me to praise you.”

Dean smiled. “Yes.”

“All right,” Castiel said, smiling as he stood up. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get started, Dean.” He turned around and pulled up his t-shirt, starting to undress, but then he felt a hand on his belly, and his head popped back out of his t-shirt. Dean was pulling his shirt back on. Castiel frowned at him confusedly.

Dean swallowed. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“What do you like?”

Castiel frowned again. “I don’t... I don’t understand?”

Dean scoffed, like Castiel had said something funny. “What makes you feel all sexy and gooey?”

“Money,” Castiel said, smiling. “You paid for the night, so now I’ll have sex with you. All night,” he said, because it truly was as simple as that.

Dean’s smile fell. “Um.” His eyes skipped between Castiel’s, looking for something he apparently didn’t find. “I don’t know about you, Jimmy, but... when I make love to someone, it’s not really about the sex, exactly? It’s more about the person I’m with, and what they want. And feeling good together. Like, you could have really crappy sex, but if you’re laughing and you’re really happy, and you feel _in love_ after, I figure that counts as lovemaking.”

Castiel tried to extricate a point from that. “You want me to... pretend to be in love with you.”

Dean’s determination wavered, not for the first time. But after a moment, he said, “Yeah.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he could do it. Not because he didn’t experience a romantic attraction to Dean – he did – but because he had never been _in love_ before. He didn’t know how he was meant to act. He knew sex, and fucking, and he was an expert in all sorts of kinks and fetishes. But he didn’t know how to make love.

“You don’t seem sure,” Dean said.

Castiel couldn’t answer.

Dean had apparently diagnosed the issue; he mumbled a laugh. “Come on,” he said, pulling his boots off, then tugging Castiel by the wrist towards the bed.

“What are we doing first?”

Dean bounced on his ass until he was up against the pillows, and he shoved both pillows up against his lower back. “Talking!” he said, cheerfully. “Come on, man, I don’t know the first thing about you.”

Castiel took his own boots off and left them next to Dean’s, then followed him onto the bed, crawling. He didn’t bother to be seductive about it, the curiosity was too prevalent. “What do you want to know?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “What do _you_ want to know? What about me interests you? We should get to know each other.”

Castiel was again baffled by the question. “Um. I really...” He shook his head.

Dean hummed thoughtfully, then twirled a finger, indicating Castiel should turn around. “Sit back against me, yeah?” Castiel turned, and he rested his shoulders against the supportive arm Dean held out, elbow on the headboard. “There,” Dean said, smiling. “We’re buddies now. Tell me about you. I wanna know the _real_ you.”

Castiel became bitter in reaction to Dean’s last sentence. “Ah, that request is very much a classic. Would you like to think I was abused as a child, and turned to prostitution as a means to escape my drunkard father? Or would you like to hear about my younger, incestuous twin sisters, or my aloof, uncaring mother who liked to put her fingers down my pants?”

Dean sat quietly, his welcoming shoulder suddenly radiating shock. “Is... is all that true?”

“No. But many of my clients wish it was.”

“Wh... Why would anyone want that to be true? Jimmy, that’s fucking _horrible_.”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel said truthfully. “I don’t know why the men who see me want me to be hurting. Maybe they think they can fix me. When in actual fact―” Castiel took a breath and turned his eyes to his right, meeting Dean’s gaze from only seven inches away. “I am always the one left hurting at the end of it. I cannot be healed by touch, and any man who thinks they can provide that for me is delusional.”

Dean wore a small, wobbly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s sure taken me down a peg or two.” His gaze slipped lower, and Castiel realised he’d upset him.

“Oh... Dean,” Castiel said gently, fingers reaching for Dean’s chin. “Dean look at me.”

Dean looked up, and Castiel sighed through his nose. “This isn’t what you want from me at all. Perhaps you would have been better off choosing another escort. A woman. They’re much better with empathy, I find.”

“Yeah? Well, you’d be surprised,” Dean said darkly. “Women aren’t always as sweet-hearted as the movies would lead you to believe.” Castiel saw something dejected cross Dean’s expression, and he realised then that he wasn’t the only one feeling bitter and abused. Not all bruises were visible. Not all starvation was caused by a lack of food.

Castiel thumbed Dean’s chin, then stroked the swell of his lower lip. “You are a very beautiful man, Dean.”

Dean shut his eyes, turning his head down. “Thanks,” he said, without pleasure. “I think that might be my only selling point.”

“That cannot be true.” Castiel blinked. “You have a fast car, too.”

Dean laughed, a sudden and quiet sound that came out more like a reverse hiccup. His eyes met Castiel’s, and he grinned. “You know, you’re actually pretty funny, in a deadpan snarker kind of way.”

Castiel blinked again, not having realised he’d made a joke. “Thank you,” he said anyway.

Retaining his composure, Dean said, “I, um, have a brother. Four years younger. I’ve sort of looked after him most of my life.” He smiled. “Guess you could say he’s a huge part of who I am.”

“How can that be true?” Castiel asked, with a frown. “He’s a separate person, how can he be a part of you?”

Dean looked at Castiel very carefully, almost calculatingly. “Do you not have any family?”

Castiel’s answer stung his tongue. His lip quivered, but he closed his mouth so he wouldn’t speak too quickly. “I must keep my personal life separate from my clients, Dean. I can’t answer that question, I’m sorry.” He turned his eyes away, wondering why he hadn’t simply lied, the way he had with other clients. Not even the bad lies about abuse – why not a basic story about a sister and a mother?

“That’s fine,” Dean said, fingertips tracing the bone of Castiel’s wrist as he cradled his arm from the side. He put another kiss on Castiel’s neck, and Castiel shut his eyes, taking a small enjoyment from the kiss. There was no crime in enjoying his work, he told himself.

“My brother,” Dean said, spreading his fingers out through Castiel’s, “he’s close to me. If I make any decision, he’s in the back of my mind, being part of my decision. I do what I can to protect him, sometimes more than I do for myself. He’s my responsibility. And I love him. That’s what I mean when I say he’s part of me.”

Castiel nodded like he understood. “I see.”

Dean rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder, breath warm on his neck. He nosed the skin there, and Castiel felt a smile. “You smell really good. Kinda manly.”

Castiel chuckled. “Have you made love to men before?”

Dean shook his head. “Sex, yeah. Fooling around... that’s probably a better description for it. Back-alley blowjobs, drunken handjobs, rutting in the backseat – you get the picture. But―” he gave a mournful sigh, “I’ve never made love before. Not even with girls.”

“Then how do you know what to do?”

“Because I know what I want,” Dean said, inching his hips closer to Castiel, thighs parting so he could slip a knee behind Castiel’s lower back. Now Dean bracketed Castiel’s body, and Castiel moved so he was comfortably leaning against Dean’s chest. He could feel his breath shifting his ribs, and his fingers smoothing circles on Castiel’s left shoulder and right hip.

Dean kissed Castiel’s ear, an odd touch. “I... wanna make you feel good. I want closeness. Connection. You’d be a little extension of me for a while. So if I touch you...” His fingers caught under Castiel’s t-shirt, and a sensitive rasp of his skin made Castiel’s skin prickle there. “Then I feel it too. More communication. Tell me what you enjoy.”

Castiel sank his head against Dean’s shoulder, neck bared and stretching, his eyes trained on the ceiling. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, watching his mouth. But words didn’t come to Castiel as easily as they usually did with clients. His flirtatious persona was inaccessible, and he couldn’t remember how Jimmy was supposed to speak. So Castiel said what truly came to mind. “I’ve never enjoyed sex very much.”

Dean swallowed audibly. “Oh.” His fingers slipped out from under the shirt and he stroked it down again. “Well, I guess that’s a start. Good communication. Heh. Yup.”

Castiel drew in a deep breath and pulled forward, turning at the hip so he could look Dean in the eye. Dean looked perplexed, and understandably unsure of how to continue. Castiel smiled at him, trying to reassure. “But what you wish to do with me would not be sex, or fucking. It would be lovemaking. A first time for both of us. Perhaps we could learn together what we like.”

Dean brightened, and a wonky smile appeared on his mouth. “Yeah?”

Castiel moved to kneel, facing Dean’s open legs. Dean tucked his lower lip under his teeth and let it roll out, shining and wet. It was an unconscious sign of arousal, and Castiel felt inexplicably warm in the pit of his stomach. He shifted forward, pressing his crotch to the exposed underside of Dean’s jeans where the seams met. “Would you like to tell me about your life? Your job? Or your childhood, perhaps.”

“Is that what guys usually talk about?”

“The nicer ones, yes,” Castiel nodded.

Dean smiled, glad to be named nicer than most. “I actually don’t... don’t really wanna talk about that stuff. I talk about it all the time, don’t you? You meet someone on the street after five years, they ask what your life is doing, you ask the same questions back, but what do you really know about each other? Fuck-all. You might find out what book they’re reading or something, I don’t know. You’d maybe find out they had a kid, but you wouldn’t know what kind of parent they are. You see five minutes of their lives, but you find out nothing about them. You just see somebody, not a _person_. You know?”

Castiel nodded, then shook his head. Dean laughed and cupped his warm palm against Castiel’s jaw, pressing his thumb along the ridge, gently making his stubble bristle with sound.

Dean stopped his thumb, then sighed, gazing softly at Castiel. “Tell me something important about you. What drives you? What’s your cause?”

“Money,” Castiel answered easily.

Dean shook his head. “What if money didn’t matter?”

“I can’t imagine a world where money didn’t matter,” Castiel said immediately, with no need to pause and think. “I’ve tried, Dean. Money is all I care for.”

Dean considered that. “You don’t strike me as the greedy type.” His lips parted, and he grinned shyly, tilting his head with a one-shouldered shrug. “Just saying. You seem smart and intelligent, and whatever else. A nice guy. Not greedy.”

Castiel pressed a sad, self-conscious smile between his lips and looked down off the bed so he didn’t have to look at Dean. He wished he could be the man Dean saw in him. That person was still in there, but he had drowned amongst other needs long ago. It wasn’t greedy to want money when he had none.

“Say,” Dean started, leaning forward and setting his fingertips on Castiel’s sternum, “what if you had a hundred-thousand bucks. Or a million, even. Money is no object. What would you do with yourself then? And I don’t mean what you would do with the _money_ , I mean, what would you do as a hobby? How would you spend your day?”

Castiel did pause to think about that one. But it was not to find an answer, it was to rediscover his persona of Jimmy. Dean was getting too personal without actually asking personal questions. He was far-too-cleverly finding out about _Castiel_. It needed to stop.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, smirking playfully. “Well,” he said, reaching out his fingers and stroking a line down Dean’s cheek, “Ooh, I’d like to lie back on a sunny beach somewhere. White sand. Endless drinks, naked sunbathing. You’d join me on my little island, wouldn’t you, Dean? We could make love aaall... day... long...” He leaned forward and rubbed himself against Dean, but the hitch in Dean’s breath was not one of excitement. Castiel moved backwards, pushed by Dean’s palm.

Dean had a concerned glint in his eye, and his smile had fallen away. “Jimmy, what... what the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

Dean nervously looked off towards the window and its closed curtains, then back at Castiel. “Seems like you went straight back to how you were in the club. I thought we’d gotten past that.”

“Don’t you like it?” Castiel asked, trying to roll against him again, but Dean moved backwards, putting a hand up as a barrier between them.

“No,” Dean said, clearly hurt. “You told me you don’t like sex, I believed that. I can’t believe you when you say you want to be on some beach, okay, because that’s not – you.”

Castiel retreated back to kneeling, eyebrows raised. “You know me now, do you?”

“I _don’t_. But I know when someone’s lying.”

“My job is to lie, Dean,” Castiel said, as calmly as he could. “I am a fantasy. Men pay me and I become what they want me to be. They ask me a question and they don’t _want_ the truth. They would rather hear about me wanting to sunbathe naked on a beach, drinking cocktails, than me wanting to sit in an office, designing houses.”

Dean sat up straighter, his eyes becoming intent. “That! That wasn’t a lie. You wanna design houses?”

Castiel set his jaw tight, angry now. Angry at himself.

Dean saw his reaction, and raised his hands placatingly. “It’s okay. Jimmy, it’s fine. Look... I’m sorry, I’ve never talked to someone like this before. Everyone I know is... For want of a better word, they’re superficial. I like talking about the hows and what-fors of people’s lives, sure, but I can’t fall in love with people who have no time for what really matters. People are so wrapped up in their own worlds.”

Castiel still had no words to answer him.

Dean swallowed, setting his hands gently over Castiel’s, smoothing against his clenched fists. “I like you, Jimmy. Honestly, I do. I don’t get _why_ I like you, and that’s _fascinating_ to me. Even if we get nothing out of this night... I think I want to go home knowing I’ve at least made a new friend. Y’know?”

His eyes lowered to their hands at the same time Castiel’s rose to look at his face. Such honesty in his expression. He was determined, and emotionally hungry. He’d chosen to pay Castiel and come here tonight as a product of dissatisfaction in his life, and Castiel felt he owed him something greater than mechanical, emotionally void sex.

“We won’t leave here with nothing, Dean. Perhaps... in answer to your question earlier... what drives me, is the thought that one day I will get to where I started out wanting to be.”

“Which is designing houses.”

Castiel’s stomach clenched, and his lips tightened. He frowned and he closed his eyes, and he nodded. “So many times I’ve had assumptions thrust upon me, reasons why I became a sex worker. It wasn’t abuse, it was lack of money. I have a degree, Dean. I―” He turned his eyes to the ceiling, feeling tears well up. “I have a _degree_. I have a second job. I put myself through college with that job. But after I graduated, I couldn’t pay the remainder of my college debt. And now I work as in the brothel nearly every night. It pays well. And yet, I never have enough money to escape.”

Dean looked stunned. His mouth was open, tension around his eyes showing his horror.

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand and pressed a palm over his own face. “Shit... _Shit_. This is why we’re never meant to talk about our personal lives. This is too much for you. This is too much for _me_ ― I’m sorry... I’m sorry, Dean―” He got up off the bed, reaching for his bag so he could leave.

“Jimmy! Jimmy, no― Wait.” Dean scrambled up and took Castiel’s hand from behind, then turned around him so he stood in his path. He grasped the bag strap and tried to put it back on the bed, but Castiel wouldn’t relax his grip; Dean’s movement was startling, and Castiel felt threatened by it. But then Dean said, “Please don’t go.”

Something in his eyes was desperate, and very _real_.

Suddenly, Dean let Castiel’s bag go, then his hand. He stepped back. “You _can_ go,” he amended. “If you want. You can keep the money I gave you. You obviously need it.”

Castiel gazed at him with emotion sitting heavy in his chest. “Why would you say that? It’s your money, Dean. I did nothing to deserve it.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “I make a decent wage. I have money in the bank, I rent half an apartment. Me and my brother almost have enough to buy a house, now. Eight hundred ain’t cheap for me, but it’s eight hundred you wouldn’t have otherwise. For you and me, whatever percentage eight hundred is of our total bank balances, it’s lower for me than it is for you. Ergo, it’s worth more to you.” He smiled gently, then stepped aside so Castiel had a clear path to the door. “Buy a jacket or something. You looked freezing on the drive over here. Summer’s on its way out, it’s only gonna get colder.”

Castiel felt his heart swelling with gratitude, and a new brand of affection he hadn’t felt before. And suddenly, outside that door did not seem like the best place to be. He shut his eyes and shoved his bag back to the bed, turning around to face it. “I admit, when you told me you wanted to make love, I thought this was going to be easy.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, and Castiel felt a hand slide against his hip from behind. Dean hugged him, pressing his nose and forehead to the nape of his neck. His words were whispered, his head rocking slightly. “So did I.”

Castiel stood there for several long seconds, grasping Dean’s arm as Dean wrapped himself around Castiel, holding onto his waist. He was warm, and Castiel appreciated his scent more now. He smelled like his car – and a delicate moisturiser, definitely on the feminine side, but wearing that scent didn’t make him any less of a man.

Castiel could feel Dean’s heart beating on his back.

Dean finally pulled away, sighing in relief. “Sorry, man,” he said. “I read something a few months back, about hugs. People are meant to fill a hug quota every day.” Castiel turned around, and Dean nudged him towards the bed before climbing up and shuffling to sit at the headboard like he had before. “You don’t start healing until the fifth hug, or something.”

Castiel nodded, crawling forward and plopping himself into Dean’s lap, fingers stroking his tufty, light brown hair back from his forehead. “I agree. People are meant to touch. Not always in a sexual way. But we are.”

Dean smiled, looking up at Castiel as he peered back, their noses bumping at the tips.

“Dean?” Castiel said.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Castiel smiled, eyes falling to look at Dean’s pretty lips. “I want you to touch me.”

♥

Dean blinked rapidly, trying to understand. “You mean more hugs?”

“I mean sex. Making love. You haven’t tried to touch me yet. I can’t be sure what you desire from me.”

Dean swallowed hard. “You said―”

“I said I don’t like sex very much. It’s true. But earlier, you asked what _I_ wanted, and I think it’s time you know: if you are resisting making use of your time with me because you think I don’t want to be touched, it’s no longer true. I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me back.”

Dean saw an additional sentence stowed away behind his lips, swallowed down. He wondered if he would ever know what that secret desire was. Still, he smiled; Jimmy was being more honest now than he had been. There was even a bulge in the crotch of his tight jeans, pressing on Dean’s abdomen. Dean smoothed his hand over Jimmy’s ass, feeling its firmness through the denim.

Slowly, Dean nodded. His breath came out in a stream of cool air. “Okay,” he said, quietly. “Are you sure, though?”

Jimmy nodded, kissing Dean’s temple ever so gently. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like me to undress?”

Dean looked him in the eye, for the first time feeling like Jimmy had taken proper control, despite being the one asking for permission. Dean nodded dumbly, lips parted. He wanted to see Jimmy naked, yes. Yes, yes.

Jimmy slunk off the bed, eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean’s heart began to pound, noticing the dilation of Jimmy’s pupils. Jimmy fingered the zipper of his jeans, pulling it down. He popped the button too, and Dean’s eyes shot from his crotch to his face, grinning briefly. Jimmy leaned closer, and Dean raised his face, parting his lips―

“No kissing, Dean,” Jimmy said softly.

Dean closed his mouth, screwing up his face. “Sorry. Forgot.”

Jimmy shook his head. “It’s all right. I was going to ask if you wanted to help me take my pants off.”

Dean looked up hopefully. “Can I?” He scooted to the edge of the bed and set his bare feet on the carpet, hands on Jimmy’s hips. Jimmy lifted the hem of his t-shirt with his fingers so Dean could see the muscle of his hips and the near-black tangle of pubic hair that showed over the elastic of his boxers. Dean felt sharp pangs of arousal, clenches in his groin. He stared, just taking in how it all looked.

He almost startled when he felt fingers in his hair. Jimmy was looking down at him fondly, a hint of a smile on his face. “Pull them down...”

Dean wet his lips and tugged downwards, letting the tight denim crumple around Jimmy’s knees. Dean’s fingers skimmed the hair on his thighs, making Jimmy laugh due to the tickles. Dean slipped off the bed and onto his knees, then grabbed Jimmy’s thighs with a tight hug, and _swung_ him around. Jimmy yelped in surprise as he found himself lying back on the bed, and Dean pulled his jeans the rest of the way off.

“You have nice feet,” Dean said, as the jeans flopped to the floor. Dean tickled Jimmy’s left sole, and Jimmy shrieked and rolled up like a hedgehog on the bed. Dean was still laughing as he planted his hands either side of the half-naked bundle and leaned directly over him. Jimmy peeked out from between his folded knees. “Hey there,” Dean grinned.

Jimmy unrolled himself, legs apart around Dean’s hips. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean again wanted to kiss him, but made do with a thorough visual examination of his lips. They were tall, pale pink lips, painted with minuscule vertical grooves. They looked exquisite to kiss; it was such a pity it was forbidden.

Jimmy took his own boxers off, but Dean didn’t let himself look at his junk, because that was a treat he wasn’t ready for yet. He turned away and wrenched his overshirt off, then his t-shirt. Both ended up on the floor.

“You don’t have a tattoo,” Jimmy said.

Dean turned around quickly, confused. There was definitely a tattoo there, unless it had magically vanished since last night. “What?”

“A Marine Corps tattoo, I mean,” Jimmy said. He was still sitting at the side of the bed, his t-shirt hem covering his genitals. “Nearly all the men I see in the army or the navy... they all get tattoos.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, nodding and shaking his head at once. “Yeah, no. I, um. I... I was allergic to the ink.”

Jimmy frowned. “But you have Latin across your back. _Non timebo mala_.”

“Different ink,” Dean said, altogether too weakly.

Jimmy turned his head thoughtfully. Fuck, Jimmy knew. He knew Dean was lying. There was no Marines tattoo because Dean had never set foot on a goddamn military boat in his life. The cops at his precinct were close, but they weren’t all foxhole-bonded, they were more like regular workmates. They didn’t do stuff like get tattoos together, and Dean found himself glad: if Jimmy had seen something like that on his skin and discovered he was a cop, he would have lost him completely.

Dean silently undid his jeans and stepped out of them, leaving them collapsed around Jimmy’s pair. He went up to the bed, walking into Jimmy’s welcoming embrace. Jimmy gave a low rumble at the back of his throat, what sounded like a genuinely pleased noise. He kissed Dean’s chest, a round and soft press.

“You kiss other guys’ chests?” Dean asked quietly.

Jimmy’s eyes flicked upwards, and he smiled against Dean’s stomach. “Let’s pretend you’re the only man I’ve ever been with.”

“But I’m not.”

“I don’t think you really want to dwell on my affairs with any other men, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. His question about other guys had been asked purely out of curiosity, but Jimmy’s words now let slip a new meaning: his request was not for Dean. Dean stroked Jimmy’s hair back. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who doesn’t want to think about it.”

Jimmy took an unwelcome breath and looked away, like he’d been caught out.

“It’s okay,” Dean said hurriedly. “I get it. No mention of anyone else. For the purposes of what you and me are doing now... we’re both new at this.”

“I’m being so unprofessional,” Jimmy said under his breath.

“I like it,” Dean admitted. “Makes me feel special.”

Jimmy looked up with a cold regret in his eye. “This could be very dangerous, Dean. I’m meant to make my clients feel like there is nobody else in the world I would rather be with, but I’ve never― It’s never―”

Dean didn’t have the gall to complete his sentence for him, despite being able to guess the rest. _It’s never actually been true._

No, perhaps that was too much of an assumption. Dean knew from experience that he was not as lovable as he thought he was. This was another example. He shouldn’t say anything too personal to Jimmy, since his ‘clinginess’ was what drove everyone else away. Even if Dean felt his emotions bursting from his heart in rainbow colours, he couldn’t say anything to make Jimmy think what Dean felt was real. Jimmy was in no position to allow Dean to love him.

“We’ll take it as it comes,” Dean said. “I’ll take your shirt off... you’ll take my boxers off... and then...”

Jimmy smiled, an encouraging shine in his blue eyes. “Then we can make love.”

Dean nodded. Jimmy kept his eyes on Dean as his fingers found their way inside Dean’s boxers, and Dean’s breath shivered as he felt the material rolling down, down, tucking under his balls. His cock pulsed. He didn’t need to look down to know it was slowly filling; he enjoyed Jimmy’s eye contact an extraordinary amount.

When his boxers touched the carpet, Dean stepped out of them and seized Jimmy’s t-shirt, pushing him bodily back to the mattress and wrinkling the material up past his nipples. Dean’s mouth sank onto Jimmy’s right nipple and he _sucked_ , moaning as his tongue rounded the tightening nub. Jimmy breathed tensely at first, but then he arched into the touch, head falling back as he groaned deeply.

Dean opened his mouth and sighed, the tip of his tongue staying on the very point of the nipple. “Please tell me that was okay,” he whispered, anxiousness tiptoeing around his stomach.

Jimmy’s hands sank into Dean’s hair, and his reply came as quietly as Dean’s whisper. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Dean lifted his face and stared at Jimmy. He shook his head. “No, I can’t. I’m not like that, Jimmy.” He pulled upwards, taking Jimmy’s t-shirt off the rest of the way. Jimmy grunted, and his face screwed up for a moment. Dean’s jaw clenched, fury bursting hot in him when he again saw the collection of grey bruises on Jimmy’s shoulders, which he knew paraded down his back like monochrome confetti.

“I can’t be like whoever did this to you,” Dean said, reaching for but not touching the injuries. “I don’t want to be a monster.”

Jimmy continued to lie there, completely still. All that moved was the glimmer in his eyes.

“Come on,” Dean said. “Sit up, we’ll lean back on the headboard like before.”

Jimmy smirked, sitting up now he had a clear instruction. “You like that position, don’t you?”

“I like it ‘cause there’s plenty to do without having to think much about moving,” Dean said, fluffing up the pillows again, tossing the mints onto the nightstand before getting onto the bed. He sat back, sighing as the cotton pillowcase cooled the skin on his back. He reached for Jimmy, smiling widely as the other man turned to sink between his open legs, his back to Dean’s chest.

“There,” Dean said happily, smacking a soft kiss to Jimmy’s neck. Then he kissed him there again, and again and again. Jimmy murmured a sound of enjoyment, tilting his head so Dean had more skin to kiss. Dean nuzzled him with his cheek, smiling. This was really nice, he’d wanted to do this sort of thing for such a long time. Last time, with― Well, her name wasn’t important. But last time, she had been reading with her book on her lap. Dean’s kisses were too distracting, she’d said. Go and do something else, she’d said.

Kissing Jimmy’s neck was much better.

Dean gradually stopped kissing, breathing slowly. He rested his nose on Castiel’s skin, inhaling deeply. Then he breathed out and kissed him again. “Is that creepy? Sniffing you?”

Jimmy rumbled a laugh. “No. Some men―” He licked his lips, censoring whatever he’d been about to reveal. “No. You’re not being creepy.”

Dean snaked a hand behind Jimmy’s lower back and started to rub himself as he kissed. It was nothing frantic; he limited himself to making his cock hard, hard enough to rest against Jimmy’s lower back without flopping over, and then he stopped, taking Jimmy’s hip in his hands instead.

“Can―” Jimmy said.

“What?”

Jimmy seemed to mull his thought over again. “I think... I want you to give me a handjob.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I’ve... I’ve never consciously desired...” His breath caught and released, a tension riding up through his muscles that Dean could feel as he smooched Jimmy’s neck. Dean supported him as he arched back, and a block of pleasure arrived in Dean and melted away almost instantly, leaving residue, exciting and foreign. Jimmy was legitimately enjoying the neck kisses. Dean had rarely felt so pleased.

“Say the word, Jimmy,” Dean muttered against his throat, mouthing at his stubble, tongue tasting his skin. “Say it, and I’ll touch.”

“Yes!” Jimmy threw his head back, ass grinding on the bed. “Touch me, Dean. Oh... uhh...”

Dean gasped in wonder, eyes closed as he kept on kissing, nosing. His right hand drifted along the crease of Jimmy’s hip muscle, fingering the dip, the sensitive skin around the bone. Jimmy moaned, a surprised noise.

Dean had to pause in kissing his neck to peer over his shoulder instead. He looked past Jimmy’s pointed nipples, noticing a small freckle above the right one. Jimmy’s dick was half-hard, throbbing irregularly. Dean’s mouth watered, and he turned his head to set his mouth on Jimmy’s Adam’s apple. His right hand cupped the hot, hot flesh of Jimmy’s cock, and began to stroke him.

Jimmy whined, a sweating hand slapping down to Dean’s knee as it sat crooked. Dean chuckled, looking back to Jimmy’s cock and watching the flesh tug about and squash in his hand. It was dusky in colour, its girth decently wide in Dean’s grip, getting thicker and fuller as he pulled. The filling organ seemed to melt to the shape of Dean’s palm, but when Jimmy’s cock became the harder of the two, Dean’s palm began to shape to _it_. He slid his fist along and up its length, gripping steadily, thumb always twisting as he felt the hard ridge of the head under Jimmy’s loose foreskin.

Jimmy moaned with his mouth closed, then writhed gently, his back sweating against Dean’s chest. He breathed hard; Dean didn’t need to see Jimmy’s face to know his nostrils were flaring.

“I kinda like this,” Dean said, expressing his own surprise in the matter. “You just... falling apart on me.” He kissed Jimmy’s neck over and over again, while his left hand pulled Jimmy’s torso back and kept him down so he would stop writhing about. “Mmm. It’s good.”

“Aaauhghh,” Jimmy said in reply.

Dean laughed. “You’re doing good, Jimmy. C’mon. God, you’re magnificent. Look at you. Mmm.” He started to kiss his neck on the other side, and Jimmy tilted his head to the right to again give him access. “Real sensitive neck, huh?”

Jimmy started to moan loudly, arching back into Dean, thrusting into his hand, gripping Dean’s knees like handlebars. “Yes... Yes, Dean, yes... You’re wonderful... You’re the best lover I’ve ever had...”

Dean stopped kissing, mouth shutting tight. Jimmy was still moaning like a porn star, flopping over Dean’s chest.

“Jimmy,” Dean said gently, slowing his hand on his cock. “Why do you keep doing that?”

Jimmy stopped moaning abruptly, and he sighed. Dean shut his eyes and let go of his cock as Jimmy reached up to scratch his nose.

“Isn’t it what you want?” Jimmy asked, shaking his head. Dean couldn’t see his expression, but it didn’t matter.

He rested his forehead on Jimmy’s shoulder, starting to feel irritated. “No,” he mumbled to Jimmy’s back. “Yes, I want you to enjoy it. But quit pretending to love it if you don’t love it.”

Jimmy pushed away enough so he could turn around, and Dean lifted his face, tugging absently on his cock. Jimmy’s mouth was a grim line when he looked back. His cheeks were flushed with real arousal, but there were still lies floating around him like a small aura.

Dean sighed when Jimmy didn’t say anything. “Listen, Jimmy. Maybe you need to re-learn about some stuff. You probably have big talks or debriefings or something when you become a prostitute―”

“Escort.”

“Escort, then. Basic stuff. Nobody touches you unless you agree. Money up front. That sort of stuff, right?”

“Yes,” Jimmy nodded.

“Then why did nobody tell you that if it hurts, if it makes you feel bad, you’re meant to tell someone? Tell them to stop, or do something different. Jeez. You go from enjoying it right through to putting on a big fake moaning orgasm. I can’t say I can always tell if the girls fake it – I hope to God they don’t – but when you do it? It’s like you’re holding up a flashing sign wheeled out of a Vegas showroom, it’s that obvious.”

Jimmy looked down at the mattress, mouth opening as he registered what Dean was describing.

“Talk to me,” Dean said lowering his head to catch Jimmy’s eye. He held his gaze firmly. “Tell me how you want it.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Then... let’s try again, but if you don’t like something, I’ll do something else. Even if it’s just to switch it up a bit. Okay?”

Jimmy thought, then nodded, going towards Dean again. There was something childlike about him, innocent. It was crazy to think so, given they seemed about the same age, how they’d met, how they’d gotten this far already, but the thought couldn’t be helped.

Dean hummed in satisfaction as Jimmy leaned against his chest again. “Remember. Communicate.”

Dean continued where he’d left off, kissing Jimmy’s neck, pulling gently on his cock. Jimmy breathed deeply, slowly starting to relax against Dean. Then he twitched, and Dean licked his lips, lifting his head. “What’s up?”

“Could you... use your left hand... and touch underneath?”

“Which underneath?”

“My taint― uh, perineum.”

“Sure,” Dean said, smiling as he did as he was told. He grinned when Jimmy sighed in relief. The groove between his legs had a single line of hair in its valley, and Dean stroked the raised swell of his skin, enjoying the huffy, shivery exhales that Jimmy gave. Dean did his best to remember to keep pulling Jimmy’s cock, too, but his rhythm did occasionally muddle up. Jimmy didn’t seem to mind.

After a few minutes passed like that, Dean attempted to get himself hard again by rocking against Jimmy’s lower back, but aside from a repetitive bumping, he didn’t get very far. He figured the communication thing went both ways, so he nuzzled his way out of his neck kisses to whisper, “Hey. Can I reassign one of my hands to my own dick? Little Dean’s feeling kinda neglected.”

Jimmy hummed with a smile. “Let me?”

“Can you reach...?”

Dean watched Jimmy’s arm swing behind his back and take hold of Dean’s cock, the heel of his hand closer to the cockhead, his fingertips nestled against his balls. Dean murmured in thanks, letting Jimmy squeeze and jiggle rather than rub, as the angle was awkward. Dean went on playing with Jimmy’s balls, testing their weight in his fingers; they were a very pleasing size. He pressed his thumb into their incredibly malleable flesh, and chuckled when Jimmy barked in surprise, hips bucking forward and losing them both their grip on everything.

Dean began to kiss one of Jimmy’s ears, only to find it was twice as sensitive as his neck. Jimmy couldn’t control his hands enough to get Dean off any more, but it didn’t seem to matter when having the guy whine and pant and grapple at Dean’s knees for purchase was so much fun.

Jimmy threw an arm back behind his head to tug Dean’s head closer to his ear, and Dean snorted in alarm as his tongue thrust _inside_ Jimmy’s ear. Jimmy laughed, then laughed again, folding over his stomach. He had a beautiful laugh, dark and bright at once. It tumbled like rocks over a waterfall.

Dean hugged him from behind, kissing his lower back. “Mmm, you fucking weirdo,” he sighed.

Jimmy finally stopped shaking, and straightened up to breathe. “More ear kisses. But no tongue.”

“Believe me,” Dean grinned, “I didn’t intend to French kiss your auditory canal. That one’s on you.”

Jimmy was still snickering when Dean started to nibble.

Dean kept his mouth doing what it did, and both his hands went to his own cock. He jacked himself to full standing, finding a peculiar new pleasure in being able to jack off while sucking on an earlobe. He liked the sound of Jimmy’s moans, too. They weren’t like a porn star’s, they were stuttered and breathy, and sometimes they got deep – coming from his throat rather than his mouth. He showed real pleasure well.

“Now face-to-face,” Jimmy said, enthusiastically sitting up and turning around. “Can I sit on you?”

Dean spread out his legs, parted just enough to reach down and pull up his balls so they wouldn’t get squashed, then he closed his legs and beckoned Jimmy up. Jimmy straddled his lap and sank down with a smile, a real smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. Dean reached for a kiss before he remembered and redirected his lips to Jimmy’s shoulder. Kisses there were okay.

Jimmy sighed, clearly not having missed the redirection. Dean didn’t look up, and neither of them said anything about it.

Jimmy began to tug on Dean’s cock, and Dean looked down to watch for a while. Jimmy was very talented, having touched thousands of penises, probably. The few penises Dean had touched all seemed very different to him; they all reacted differently, they had all taught him something new about male pleasure – but to Jimmy, all cocks were most likely the same. There was a standard movement he did, which was incredibly precise, and while Dean watched Jimmy expertly change up the rhythm and the movement, he still saw the pattern in it.

Dean looked up, meeting Jimmy’s eyes. He got lost in them for a while. He took a soft breath, and said gently, “You’ve got really, really nice eyes. “ He went on looking between them, left then right. They were dark blue, the rings of colour slimmed by those near-black circles of lust in their centres.

“Oh... I forgot; you wanted me to praise you,” Jimmy said. “You’re a good teacher.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. That was unexpected... and a huge compliment. “Oh,” he said. “Thank you.”

Jimmy blinked. “Did I do it right?”

Dean nodded wordlessly.

Jimmy’s gaze fell to Dean’s lips. “It’s easier to be criticised when the person making the criticism is willing to help you improve,” he said. “You’ve said bad things about me but that hasn’t stopped me liking you.”

Dean grinned. “So you do like me.”

“Of course I like you, Dean.” Jimmy frowned, perplexed. He bent his head and Dean was absolutely convinced he was going to be kissed, but the lips landed on the very tip of his nose. Dean couldn’t help but moan, still in want. Jimmy shook his head. “I can’t kiss you, Dean. I can’t. I’ve already broken rules.”

“So what’s one more rule?” Dean asked, not caring that he was begging now. He rocked his hips against Jimmy, and Jimmy gasped as their cocks began to nudge together, bumping and rolling their heat between their hips. “I’ve broken rules too, Jimmy. I broke them tonight. I haven’t broken rules for years and tonight I did.”

“Why?”

Dean shook his head, eyebrows turning outward as he felt lost all of a sudden. “For you.”

Something in Jimmy’s expression seemed to grow soft, helpless. Innocent again.

♥

What _was_ one more rule? Castiel had already fallen this far, opened up his heart to the other man. Dean had accidentally become a mentor, a guide, and Castiel felt inexperienced in his arms. But he wanted it too. He wanted a kiss like Dean did.

But he couldn’t!

Castiel had to shake his head and bear with it as Dean breathed unhappily, frowning as he looked away. Castiel knew it was for the best. He couldn’t fall for Dean. That would be hugely consequential, and irreversible.

So Castiel made do with rocking against Dean, enjoying the hug as Dean held him tight and rode up against him. Castiel moaned when he couldn’t keep the sound in any more, keening as a fantastic pressure started to build between his legs.

Apparently Dean was experiencing the same pressure. “Yes... Jimmy, yes... Oh, you’re gonna make me come...”

Castiel chuckled. “Isn’t that the idea?”

Dean shook his head. “Side-effect. Oh― Ohhhh...”

Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair, resting his nose on his scalp and breathing in his scent. He wanted to treasure it. He didn’t want it to be ephemeral like other men’s scents.

Castiel thought of the romance novels the other sex workers liked to defame. The girls would impress upon Castiel that the oft-told story was too far-fetched: a whore finally finding true love, going home with a man who would protect her and love her rather than use her. In reality, they were more likely to be abused and killed than they were to find a sugar daddy who cared about them for long enough to help them step up in their lives. Men had fleeting hearts.

Castiel had long ago stopped believing the possibility of true love existed, the same way he’d stopped believing he would ever make use of his housing studies and architecture degree, and stopped believing sex could feel good for him. But Dean... In such a short space of time, Dean had made him believe again.

Castiel watched the way the motel’s light caught Dean’s gorgeous green eyes as their bodies rubbed their way towards climax, and he felt emotional. _Glad_. Glad he’d found Dean. Glad he’d seen him from all the way across the dancefloor, glad he’d ignored other proposals as he’d made his way over to him. He was glad Dean joined him in the back room. Most of all, he was glad Dean turned out to be the kind of person he was.

Not like other men. That was what Dean was. Not like them.

“You’re better,” Castiel said to him. He felt it completely. “You’re better than the men who hurt me.”

Dean swallowed, some strange emotion crossing his face as he put a kiss on Castiel’s collarbone. “I th― I thought you didn’t want to talk about them.”

“I don’t,” Castiel agreed, becoming breathless and dizzy as a moan suddenly escaped his mouth. “B-b-aaaah... _yes_... But...”

“What,” Dean breathed, grinning hot breaths against his shoulder. “C’mon, what?”

“But to them... To them, I’m just a mouth. Or a hole. But you, you don’t want that.”

“Never said I – don’t want it, only that I― _Ugh, yes_ ― Don’t wanna hurt you – by taking it.”

Castiel gripped Dean’s hair, snarling as pleasure flipped in him, sparking like a lit fuse. It was pressurising and fizzing brightly, and he was going to come very soon. “But to them. Everyone else. That’s what I am, I’m a― Ah! I’m a fantasy, Dean. I’m― Shit. _Shit_ ― I’m _just_ a mouth and a hole. I’m just something they bought. I’m not a kiss, I’m not a soft touch. I’m not a hug, Dean.”

“But you want to be,” Dean whispered, nodding. “I know you do, Jimmy, I can feel you holding me. You’re... You’re soft hands and a heart, Jimmy. You’re― Jimmy! Jimmy, yes! Come on, yes... yes... Come for me.”

Castiel whined, mouth stuck open, eyes down as he watched himself spilling on Dean’s belly, hot spurts pouring out in pearl-white lines. He lost all sense of direction, feeling only the release of immense tension, the grip of Dean’s hands on his ass, on his lower back, and his mouth on his ribs. A moan rumbled inside him.

Castiel shook as he came down, and realised Dean was still muttering to him. Telling him things.

“You’ve got a heart, too, Jimmy. You’re so much more than a couple of good holes, believe me.” When Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, he saw adoration. Dean smiled, and finished, “You have a beautiful mind. Beautiful soul. C’mon, you’re a _person_. I can’t believe nobody ever showed you that before.”

Castiel didn’t know what to do any more. He fell into Dean to kiss him, but even as Dean’s lips parted and his hands grasped to hold him, Castiel pulled away again, crying out as he knew he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” Dean said on his behalf, rushed and self-calming. “It’s okay, you’re not allowed. I get it.”

Castiel had to keep his eyes away for a very long time. He was in danger of loving Dean. He prayed Dean’s words weren’t a lie to take him in, Castiel didn’t know how to spot the more brilliant lies. He didn’t want Dean to be a liar, but if he was, it ought to have been easier to refuse a kiss.

Oh, how weak he was. One compliment, the faintest touch of validation, and he was helpless.

He only turned back when he heard the slick shifting sound of Dean jacking himself off. Castiel apologised when he saw Dean had to do it himself, and immediately took over – it was his job, after all. But even if it weren’t his job, he would want to touch Dean anyway. He was satisfying to be with.

“I feel like I’m glowing,” Castiel said, smiling down at Dean’s cock as he pulled and tugged him back towards his climax. “That was a very good orgasm.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, grinning. Castiel watched his smile, not the crinkle around his eyes.

“I particularly liked being informed I was a person,” Castiel said with a smile and a frown. “I wasn’t aware I possessed such personage.”

Dean laughed, wrapping both arms around Castiel’s lower back to cuddle him close. “Hell, maybe it was bad phrasing. But you know what I mean, right?”

“You were trying to tell me I’m worthy of having ambitions and goals, hopes and fears, and have a right to control what happens to my own body. Yes, I know what you meant.”

Dean nodded, face flushing pink as Castiel pulled faster and faster, making Dean grunt and squirm.

“You know,” Dean said, panting hard, “You― Mm, you talk... kinda fancy. Reminds me of, like... _hhah_ ― Civil War nuts, or something.”

Castiel smiled as he watched Dean start rocking his head forward, breaths becoming uneven, face ruddy and his eyes shining. “Are you saying my speech is wholly outdated?”

“Yeah. But― that’s― not― to say... Ah – ha – oh-sh-hi-hit _auuh―_ Jimmy!”

Castiel grinned devilishly as Dean released his load not only across Castiel’s hand, but over his stomach, the second and third squirts hitting him in the shoulder and slipping down in shining trails of heavy fluid. Castiel felt its heat, and was pleased by it. Job well done. It was good to see Dean so relaxed.

“Not to say,” Dean breathed, rasping, “that I... don’t... like it.”

Castiel nodded, putting a chaste kiss on Dean’s forehead. “No man is good enough to govern another man, without that other's consent.”

“Hh...?”

“Abraham Lincoln,” Castiel explained. “You said Civil War, didn’t you? The quote leapt to mind.”

“Appropriate,” Dean said. Then he laughed. “Great. Now I’ve officially made love to the _one_ guy who quotes Abraham Lincoln in bed.”

“And I have made love to a man who sticks his tongue in my ear.”

Dean snorted and broke down into giggles almost immediately, folding forward over Castiel until they ended up lying down, Castiel on his back, Dean pressing his stomach against Castiel’s groin. Their come slipped between them as Dean slid forward, still laughing, tears in his eyes.

Dean’s laugh eventually settled somewhat, and his breath puffed out in soft chuckles instead, but his eyes didn’t leave Castiel’s.

Castiel smiled. He could feel emotion tugging at the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t realise quite how much until Dean’s expression changed completely, and Castiel was instead looking up at a frown.

“Jimmy, what’s wrong?”

Castiel swallowed, about to say there was nothing wrong, but found his throat was so tightened that he couldn’t do anything but stutter. His head rolled to the side and he shut his eyes so Dean didn’t see his tears, but they were already in his eyes and Dean had noticed them before Castiel had.

“Jimmy... Jimmy, look at me. Look at me, come on.”

Castiel shivered and tentatively turned his gaze upward. Dean wasn’t his client for these moments, he was a lover. A cautious, careful lover, with his hands sliding under Castiel’s head to hold him steady, with his other hand reaching to grip Castiel’s hand and secure him.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Castiel managed a tiny smile. “I’m a person.”

Dean cocked an awkward grin, but it was paired with the furrowed eyebrows of confusion.

Castiel sighed and looked at their interlocked fingers, moving his thumb to stroke the side of Dean’s hand. “You said I was the one guy who quotes Lincoln in bed. I’m sure there are other men out there who would. But... I don’t know – it hit me that if you ever think of me after tonight, you might remember that. And I wouldn’t be ‘that hooker you paid to make love’, I would be ‘Jimmy, the guy who quoted Lincoln’.”

Dean blinked.

“It was a nice thought. I don’t know if it would be true. It... It doesn’t matter if it’s not.”

“Obviously it’s true,” Dean said. He shifted forward, then winced, because their semen was growing cold and tacky between them. “Jimmy, you’re not some worthless lay to me, okay? You’re a guy I’m into, who just happens to need money to pay for college bills. Is that easier?”

Castiel let out a thick breath. He liked the peaceful look in Dean’s eyes. He nodded.

“Good,” Dean said, then leaned down and pecked Castiel on the lips. He inhaled and pulled up a split-second later, eyes spooked. “Shit! Fuck! Sorry, I didn’t―”

“It’s fine, it was a mistake,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “Perhaps we should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, backing away and kneeling at the headboard. Castiel got off the bed, feeling disoriented for a few seconds. He ran a hand back through his hair, then frowned and brought the hand back to his nose to sniff. Gross. He took a breath and looked back at Dean. “Would you mind if I take a shower?”

Dean looked down at his own mess, and Castiel realised he was being very selfish. “Wait,” Castiel added, grimacing, “you should go first. You’re the... you’re the customer.”

He felt guilty for saying that. He’d enjoyed it so much, being a participant instead of a pro.

Dean got off the bed too, sighing. “I’d offer to share the hot water, but I think that might be too complicated. How about I be really quick, and you get ready for bed while I’m gone.”

“Bed?”

Dean squinted. “Yeah. I kind of... wanted to cuddle or something. While we slept.”

Castiel’s lips rounded. “Oh, you want to sleep?”

“Dude, it’s like eleven at night.”

Castiel stared blankly. It made sense Dean went to bed at eleven like a normal person, but what didn’t make sense was... “You’ve paid me for the whole night. You really want to sleep though those hours?”

Dean curled his arms around his torso, shrugging a shoulder as he looked down at his feet. “The sleeping is actually a really big part of what I was paying for. Post-coital snuggles, and shit like that. It’s―” he shrugged again, “kinda lame, I guess. But I keep trying to cuddle with girls and they’re like, ‘Get back on your own side of the bed’ and ‘Can’t we do this another time?’. And with guys...” Dean frowned and swallowed hard. “Guys hate cuddling.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said. He smiled widely when Dean’s eyes lit up. “I can appreciate being held. Or doing the holding, whichever suits you.”

“I don’t know yet,” Dean said. “We gotta experiment. But in a bit! Because Jesus, this shit is getting nasty,” he said, gesturing at the ejaculate smeared on his skin. “Give me five minutes, then the shower’s yours!”

He hurried for the bathroom, leaving his wallet and phone and car keys in the room with Castiel. Castiel shook his head with a quiet laugh as Dean locked the door behind him. Dean either lacked intelligence or he trusted Castiel not to take everything and leave, and Castiel’s bet was definitely resting on the latter.


	3. Round Two

Jimmy fell between the sheets with a satisfied sigh. Dean cooed happily, pressing his naked body all along the other man as he stretched out towards the lamp on the nightstand. Dean had switched the lights over from the main overhead one to the bedside one while Jimmy had been in the shower, and now, as Dean flicked the lamp’s switch, the room became a dark blue, and somehow more muffled in sound than it had been with the lights on.

Jimmy chuckled, fingers thrust gently into Dean’s hair. “Do you intend to cuddle me like that? You’re squashing me.”

Dean grinned and slunk around him, pushing a thigh between Jimmy’s and taking pleasure in Jimmy’s small sigh as his legs parted. “Nah,” Dean said, kissing Jimmy’s stubbled jaw. “We’re gonna cuddle in every single position until one or both of us falls asleep.”

“I’m oddly excited, but you probably can’t see it in the dark,” Jimmy said, nudging his nose up against Dean’s cheek. “Mmm. This is a very pleasant kind of intimacy.”

“You think so?”

“It’s sensual,” Jimmy nodded, banding his arms around Dean’s back, a hand spread out over Dean’s Latin tattoo. A kiss pressed to Dean’s shoulder muscles, then to his neck. “I can’t see you, but I can hear you, and feel you, and smell you. I find I’m somewhat partial to sensuality. You are too, aren’t you, Dean?”

“Mm-hm, hell yeah,” Dean sighed. “Hey, roll over for me?”

They flipped, laughing when their weight turned badly and Dean ended up with a knee on his inner thigh and a shoulder jammed under his arm. Dean wrapped Jimmy tightly over his body, beaming to himself as he stared up at the blank ceiling. His eyes were adjusting to the light now, and he could see the glow coming from outside, barely a blueness through the curtain.

Dean wondered what Captain Mills and the crew were doing now. Their sting was supposed to have begun an hour ago. Maybe everyone was arrested already. Maybe they were still processing things. Dean was still relieved Jimmy wasn’t part of it.

“Do you like this?” Jimmy asked, resting his cheek on Dean’s chest. Dean felt Jimmy close his eyes, felt his eyelashes flicker.

Dean smiled in the dark. “Yeah.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Um. Kind of... comforting.”

Jimmy made a pleased sound.

“Don’t know about you though,” Dean continued, “but I kind of... feel like the sex was missing something. No offence; it was great, I promise. I like talking to you. And hugging you and stuff. But...” Dean dragged in a long, quiet breath, then let it out again. “I still feel kinda empty inside. The same way I was before we started.”

Jimmy was quiet for a few seconds. Then he shifted slightly. “Put your arms over my shoulders?”

Dean did, and smiled when Jimmy sighed aloud, vocal.

“What does it feel like for _you_?” Dean asked.

“Relieving,” Jimmy answered. “I think I’ve needed this for months.” He made a soft sound in the back of his throat. “Years, perhaps.”

“Your hug quota’s gotta be pretty far sub-zero. Sex ain’t the same as a hug, I know that one from experience. There’s bad sex, which could still be good lovemaking if you’re with the right person. But then there’s bad hugs, and that’s just no good to anyone.”

Jimmy laughed, shaking his head and rocking his nose against Dean’s chest. The laugh petered out, and Dean felt Jimmy’s eyes open again. His cheek pressed on Dean’s ribs as he parted his lips to speak. “You said lovemaking is best if it’s with the right person.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

Jimmy propped his chin up gently on Dean’s sternum, and Dean couldn’t see him in the gloom, but he could sense Jimmy’s gaze settling on his face. “Was I the right person? Did we make love, or was it just bad sex masquerading as lovemaking?”

“Well,” Dean said tenderly, fingering a lock of Jimmy’s slightly damp hair, feeling how soft it was, “When we did it, did you feel... in love with me?”

Jimmy was quiet for a few breaths, then took a deeper breath, and whispered, “Yes.”

A rain of sparks released through Dean’s body like a freaking self-contained firework display. He bit his lower lip and grinned at the ceiling, eyes moving from one unseen shadow to another. “Me too,” he confessed. “I think I still am.”

“Still in love with me?”

“Yeah. Why else would this cuddle feel this awesome?”

“Perhaps we’re both very good cuddlers,” Jimmy said, resting his cheek on Dean’s chest again.

Dean snorted softly. “Sure. Maybe.”

It became very quiet.

Dean heard Jimmy swallow, and he heard his own breaths. His fingers twisted through Jimmy’s hair, spreading out to touch and massage him, just one sweep back. He cradled the back of Jimmy’s head, his other hand stroking his shoulder. Jimmy swallowed again, and then lifted his head.

Dean was given no warning at all before he felt warm, open lips on his nostrils, a tongue licking its way down the groove between Dean’s nose and lips. He opened his mouth in confusion, and found his mouth kissed. His hand waved unsurely, but then he set it on the back of Jimmy’s neck.

Jimmy broke the kiss with a gasp, but didn’t go far. Hot, panting breaths fell all over Dean’s cooling lips, and while he couldn’t see Jimmy, he imagined he looked as startled as Dean felt.

“What― What?” Dean asked.

“S- Sorry, I tried for your mouth and― It was dark― Your nose...”

Dean started laughing, rocking a quick kiss to Jimmy’s lips above him. “I guess that makes us even. You know, with the tongue-in-the-ear mishap.”

Jimmy chortled, forehead down against Dean’s. He kissed him again, lips rolling, pulling a thin whine from Dean’s throat. Jimmy sank his tongue against Dean’s, and Dean gasped hard, wrapping his legs around Jimmy’s sturdy hips. His ass squeezed under Dean’s knees, and Dean moaned without restraint into Jimmy’s open mouth as their saliva mingled with each touch.

Jimmy pulled off again, nose touching against Dean’s. “I don’t know why I... It just seemed...”

“It seemed right,” Dean said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. The kiss had indeed seemed very right.

“You taste like―” Dean second-guessed what he planned to say, but then decided to say it anyway. “Okay, it’s weird, but... There’s this guy who used to look after me and my brother Sam, back when we were kids and our dad was off with the Marines and our mom was working. This guy – Bobby – he ran a scrapyard, so there was scrap metal and furniture and cars everywhere. And in summer, we got nothing but really hot, muggy days. Dusty and heavy. You’d get insects buzzing about everywhere, and there was always a storm coming in, but it was awesome. We used to drive cars and fix ‘em up when school was out.

“There was this one tree out in the scrapheap, and right under it, there was a bench. It used to smell real particular. Like varnish, or something, I don’t know. There was long grass all around it, used to make my legs itch when I sat there. But the smell of the bench, mixed with the summer and the heat and the cooler-box beer we used to sneak out there... That’s what you taste like. You―” Dean laughed, kissing Jimmy again. “God, Jimmy, you literally taste like good times.”

Jimmy breathed slowly, resting his soft mouth beside Dean’s lips. Dean felt him lick his lips, felt another inhale rush past his cheek. Then he turned his head, and Dean felt his smile. “I don’t have any memories like that,” Jimmy said. “Nothing so vivid of my childhood. But I feel like... now I know your memory, it’s like I remember it too.”

“We can share,” Dean said, kissing Jimmy fully. He rolled him over, surging into him. Jimmy yelped and laughed at once, and Dean murmured happily against his lips, smacking varied pressures all over his cheeks and chin, sucking on his lower lip when he found it slotted between his own lips.

Jimmy’s mouth was hot, his kiss rolling, his saliva sweet. Dean trailed the backs of his fingers against Jimmy’s cheek, eyes half-shut to savour the feel and the taste. Jimmy exhaled against Dean’s stubble, tongue exploring as his lips melded to Dean’s, sucking on his mouth or tongue occasionally, and smiling as he did.

“Do you― Ah!” Jimmy arched upwards, hips lifting off the bed as Dean’s hands swept the small of his back, grasping the meaty part either side of his spine. Jimmy tried again, chuckling, “Do you want to make love again?”

“Round two?”

Jimmy nodded in the dark, the movement shaking his body in Dean’s hands. Dean felt a gust of warm air as Jimmy rolled over so he was on top of Dean, then reached over to his right. With a click, the bedside lamp came back on, and Dean blinked quickly, wincing at the fractals of light bouncing around his vision.

Jimmy kissed him gently for a few more seconds, each of them lingering in the warmth of their welcoming mouths. Dean’s breath shook as he licked his lips, leaving a small space to breathe when Jimmy lifted himself away by an inch. They gazed into each other’s eyes, sharing a smirk.

“All right, round two,” Dean agreed. “Let’s do this.” He patted Jimmy’s hips. “Buck up for a minute?”

Jimmy, curious, lifted his weight onto his fists and toes, leaving Dean the space to roll over. Dean grunted, grinning as he slunk onto his belly, bumping his hips so his cock wasn’t at a bad angle. He reached out his arms and touched the headboard, resting his cheek on his bicep. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Jimmy lowered himself back down, and Dean shivered with anticipation as he felt the semi-swell of Jimmy’s cock resting on his ass.

“You want to bottom?” Jimmy asked, tentative fingers tracing Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s smile was unstable, but he felt a burst of excitement in him with enough power to make him grin, if he hadn’t been just a little too nervous. He bit his lip, and nodded against the pillow. “I never did it before, though.” He paused, wondering about that. Then he lifted his head and looked over his shoulder to see Jimmy’s wide blue eyes looking back. “That’s not a problem, is it? Virgin ass?”

Jimmy seemed to choke on a smile, and he shook his head. “It’s not a problem, Dean. We’ll just have to go slow. Like you wanted.” He rocked forward and put a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek. “I’ll stretch you out first.” He put a kiss on Dean’s lips, and Dean had to tilt his head at a wild angle to reach. Against his lips, against Dean’s flustered breath, Jimmy whispered, “You’ll have to relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” Dean assured him, wriggling down and lying comfortably, his feet rising to kick about gently in the air. “You’ve got lube or something, right?”

Jimmy kissed Dean’s neck, fingertips following the kiss with a tender touch. “I have massage oil in my bag.”

“Why massage oil?” Dean asked, turning his head to the right to watch Jimmy hop off the bed, cock perky but not hard. “I thought lube was the go-to thing for... you know, this kind of sex.”

“Anal sex, you mean?” Jimmy said, his voice several feet behind Dean. Dean heard his full bag being unzipped. “It’s water-based massage oil, safe to use with condoms – essentially it’s just scented lubrication. You need to be relaxed enough for me to get inside. At the moment you’re tense.”

“I’m not!” Dean retorted, turning his head the other way as Jimmy climbed back on the bed, dipping the mattress as he crawled closer.

Jimmy tapped Dean’s ass with a quick slap, and Dean gasped, toes curling and fists clenching. His anus tightened up too. He growled and buried his forehead into the pillow.

♥

Castiel smiled as he let the bottle of oil roll into the middle of the mattress. “I’m not going to rush this, Dean,” he promised. “We have all night; I’ll make sure we take as long as you need. I want you to be satisfied, not empty inside, as you described it.”

Dean nodded after a while.

Castiel reached up over him and grabbed the second pillow. “Put this under your hips.”

“My hips?” Dean took the pillow, lifting up on his knees to slide the pillow under his crotch. He sighed as he lay back down, fingers clutched in the sheets. Castiel uncapped the massage oil, and heard Dean gulp.

“Is...” Dean’s voice trembled. “Is this going to hurt?”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s innocence in this matter. He purred low, sinking forward to place yet another kiss on Dean’s shoulders, atop the elegant script across his upper back. “No,” he said. “So long as we go slow, and you’re stretched properly before I enter you, it won’t hurt.”

Dean swallowed again, fingers twitching in the sheet. “M’kay.”

Castiel nosed the dip of his spine, kissing once, twice... three times. “Trust me,” he breathed. “This is going to feel amazing.”

He climbed over Dean’s ass and sat down, his cock centred in the crease of Dean’s buttocks. Castiel started by pouring some oil in a long, slow line from his shoulders to the small of his back, and grinned when Dean gave a broken whine of excitement.

“You’re looking forward to this,” Castiel observed, pouring some more oil into his palm, then setting the bottle on the nightstand. “You’re excited about having me inside you. Me too, I’m excited too.”

Dean shivered as Castiel set his warm, slick hands on his shoulder blades. Castiel started with big circular motions, spreading out the oil that was already seeping across Dean’s skin. Castiel groaned, more out of habit than real enjoyment, but he resolved not to do that any more tonight; Dean didn’t like his usual spiel. 

Dean finally began to relax as Castiel rocked forward, putting pressure on the other man’s thick muscles. “Auuh... mmmhh,” Dean croaked, sighing as he did.

“You have an exquisite back,” Castiel told him, voice quiet, seductive. “Obviously you keep up with training.”

Dean snorted against his pillow. “You could say that. It’s my job, kind of have to stay fit.”

“What’s it like, working with the Marines? It must be gruelling.”

Dean tensed, and Castiel noticed. Dean seemed to force himself to relax, and a breath came out in the form of a gusty laugh. “Yeah,” Dean said. “Marines. It’s okay.”

“Where have you been stationed?” Castiel asked, squeezing sleek patterns down Dean’s lower back with the heels of his hands, easing out the pressure there. “You must get to travel a fair amount.”

“Um. Jimmy, is it okay if we don’t talk about – work?”

“Apologies,” Castiel said, kissing Dean’s neck once, then again. “I was curious.”

“Yeah.”

Dean took a deep breath, held it, then let it go. The scent of the oil had started to infiltrate the room; it was heady, yet calming. Even Castiel found the roll of his hands and the mirrored movements of his arms therapeutic. He pushed his hips into Dean’s ass, chuckling when Dean moaned aloud.

“God, I can’t wait,” Dean whispered, his voice slightly slurred – which meant this technique was working. “Really wanna know what it feels like.”

“Anal sex can be lot of fun for some people. I have a feeling you’re one of those who’ll enjoy it immensely.”

“Mmm.” Dean sighed gently, sinking deeper into the bed. “You’re... really good at massaging...”

Castiel gave a deep hum of pride. “It’s one of my favourite things to do. So undemanding.”

“And... I guess you can’t get hurt this way,” Dean said, tilting his head to the side and blinking. “Nobody can hurt you if you’re behind them?”

Castiel swallowed. “I would rather not talk about work either, if it’s all the same to you, Dean.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s cool.”

Castiel smiled, sitting up on his knees and putting the entire weight of his torso into one beautiful push, all the way from Dean’s biceps, to his neck, to his tattoo, then down _hard_ to his lower back. From there, Castiel wriggled backwards and kept his hands going until his palms cupped over the mounds of Dean’s ass, and Dean’s breath caught. Castiel let Dean open his legs; it was a natural movement.

“Yes,” Dean breathed. “God yeah, massage my ass...”

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” Castiel said, grasping and pawing in slow-motion at Dean’s round and meaty buttocks. “Take a deep breath in.”

Dean breathed in and held it until Castiel said, “That’s good. Now let it out slowly.”

Dean groaned, a needy whine at the end of it. “Make me all wet down there... Shit yes...”

Castiel chuckled, obediently sliding his overly-slick hand between Dean’s buttocks, feeling the soft swell of his scrotum, his perineum, and the tight wrinkle of his anus. Dean gasped as Castiel’s fingertip brushed the crinkle; his legs spread wider, another whine escaping his throat. Castiel slowed his fingers there and allowed Dean to lift his hips off the bed, assuming the copulation position known as ‘doggy style’.

“Not yet, Dean,” Castiel said, putting his right hand on Dean’s rump and easing him back down to the pillow. “It will take a lot more than that to get you ready.”

“H-How long?” Dean asked, needing to bump and shift about to get comfortable again. Castiel had seen his erection, and was now certain Dean enjoyed the massage as much as Castiel did. Castiel briefly stroked himself, then returned to servicing Dean, pouring out more oil onto his ass and thighs.

“We’ll start with ten minutes,” Castiel said. “I haven’t even started to stretch you, yet.”

“You keep saying that,” Dean mumbled, moving his head on the pillow. Castiel saw he was blushing hot pink on his cheeks. “You keep saying ‘stretch’. What are you gonna stretch, exactly?”

Castiel now saw the extent of Dean’s cluelessness, but had no need to pity him or laugh at him. Education on certain topics was not the strong point of school systems, nor the pornographic industry. “Your anus, Dean. I’ll put my fingers inside and move them until I think you’re ready to take my cock.”

Dean wailed, thrusting his face into the pillow and squeezing the cloth with a hand. “ _Fuuuck_ ,” Castiel heard, dreadfully muffled. He went on rubbing and massaging at Dean’s ass and thighs, thumbing lines away from his hole, where the skin’s bold twitches let him know it was sensitive.

Dean finally lifted his head, gasping and panting. “I― I never knew― Never see stretching in porn―”

Castiel did laugh at that. “There is a lot of sex that is never shown in porn,” he said. He fingered Dean’s hole on the surface, revelling in the full-body spasm and the vocal yelp that Dean gave.

“Please,” Dean said, grinding his hips into the pillow under him, head raised. “Do it again... Do it again.”

Castiel obliged, grinning widely as Dean threw his head back and started thrusting into the pillow, grunting.

“Shh, Dean,” Castiel said, stroking Dean’s hip with his slippery hand. “Calm down. Come on, lie still, I think you’re ready for me to start.”

“God yes,” Dean whispered sharply, thumping his head back to the pillow and presenting his ass to Castiel once more. “Finger me.”

Castiel curled over him and ran the tip of his nose up Dean’s spine, enjoying the way Dean’s breath caught. Castiel put a quick kiss on his neck, then fell back and did as he had intended: he swirled his slick fingertips around Dean’s puckered hole, making it glisten with lubrication.

“That’s so good,” Dean said under his breath. “Jesus, so fuckin’ hot. Why wouldn’t girls ever do this to me? I asked but they said it was gross or dirty or weird.”

“It’s not gross if you take the proper precautions,” Castiel said, giving no warning whatsoever as he slipped his left index finger inside. Dean screamed for a second, bristling all over, body tight and frozen until Castiel pulled back out. “How was that?”

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Dean grinned, head down against the pillow. “It― It was like... inside me. But― Holy shit, do it again.”

Castiel smirked, his right hand still soothing Dean’s lower back, as his left fingers played on his hole. He slid in the same finger again, sighing breathily as Dean sobbed in what sounded like pure joy. Castiel slid his finger out, then back in. It went easily; the muscle was tight but relaxed, and Dean’s rectum was thankfully clean.

Dean moaned dramatically, biting the pillow under his head. Castiel raised his eyebrows, surprised by Dean’s display. He didn’t think Dean was exaggerating for the sake of giving Castiel a show; he was apparently enjoying the single finger a great deal.

“Is it good?” Castiel asked. “Do you think you could take another finger?”

“Yeaaah,” Dean keened, curling his legs outward on the bed, lifting his hips to push Castiel’s finger deeper. “More, Jimmy... Want more...”

Castiel didn’t need to pour any more massage oil yet, there was plenty to allow him to slide another finger beside the first. The fingertip popped past the first ring of muscle, then the second ring, and the pressure of Dean’s rectum was enough to bind Castiel’s knuckles together, sliding in and out as Dean gyrated his hips. Dean was making guttural, breathless noises, grunting as his hips moved.

Castiel looked down between Dean’s legs and saw the flash of a hand; Dean was jacking himself off as Castiel stretched him. Castiel smirked, his right hand smoothing down the oil-wet hair on Dean’s muscular thigh. “You’re enjoying this very much, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-m... Mmhhh! Jimmy― Jimmy, want... Oh _God_...”

Castiel twisted and pushed and pulled his two embedded fingers, scissoring them on exit. Dean yowled, then gasped out “Shit!” and the frantic rhythm of his hand stopped immediately. Castiel glanced down as he pushed in three fingers, and he was again surprised to see Dean had wrapped his fist tightly around the base of his cock, whining desperately and vibrating all over as he tried to keep himself from coming.

Castiel slowly... _slowly_ slid his three fingers deeper. Right up to the third knuckle. Then, just as slowly, he pulled them back out, bending them down towards Dean’s prostate as he did.

He felt satisfied but cruel as he heard Dean cry out “Oh no―!” Castiel watched gleefully as Dean came on the pillow below his hips, his tight fist doing nothing to keep his orgasm contained. Dean groaned one last time, sounding helpless and defeated and guilty as his head sank down, presumably looking down at his cock and seeing his spent emissions.

“I came,” he said, completely dejected.

“That’s all right,” Castiel assured him, gently squeezing Dean’s ass. “I have three fingers inside you now, you’ll be ready eventually. Give it a few minutes.”

“We can still do it?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, chuckling. “Only _I_ need to be hard, all you have to do is lie back.”

Dean sighed, relieved by that.

They gave it a few more minutes. Without the overwhelming desperation, Dean found it much easier to lie still and let Castiel wriggle about inside him. He still moaned and squirmed occasionally, bucking when Castiel got his prostate, but he was an easy customer now.

“I think that ought to do it,” Castiel said, sliding all four fingers out and patting Dean’s ass. “I’ll go and clean my hands, and we’ll wipe up the oil, then we can begin.”

Dean propped his torso up on his elbows and looked back over his shoulder at Castiel, grinning, swinging his feet in the air. “This is, like, fifty times more fun than I’ve ever had in bed before.”

“Really?” Castiel washed his hands in the kitchenette’s sink, pumping out four squirts of soap into his palm from the dispenser. “Surely that’s an exaggeration.”

“Nah, I mean it,” Dean said brightly, as Castiel scrubbed a furious lather between his hands. “I don’t do this, I don’t pay for sex. No cash for ass – words to live by. But obviously I’m not getting what I need from the regular population, so what the hell. Maybe what I needed was someone who really, legitimately wants to be with me. Not saying you’re properly _in love_ with me or anything, you were probably just kidding about that – but you’re being paid to be here. Maybe if I paid my girlfriends they would’ve stuck around for more than a fortnight.”

Castiel hummed, trying not to be upset that Dean saw his love as nothing but an act. It was to be expected, he supposed. Besides, it gave Castiel an out; Dean still thought it was a one-time fling, and that was bound to make it easier for Castiel to sever the tie afterwards.

Castiel gave his hands one more thorough rinse, then dried them on a paper towel. He took five more paper towels back to the bed to start wiping up the massage oil. “Perhaps the women weren’t interested in a relationship with you because of some other reason,” he suggested to Dean.

Dean smiled sadly. “The reason they cited – more than once – is that I’m too ‘clingy’.” He phrased the word with his fingers shaped into bunny-ears beside his head. “I take them to movies, I make them dinner – that’s dinner cooked from scratch, I might add. I pamper and love them the way they deserve to be pampered and loved, but then they turn around and say I’m coming on too strong, I’m getting in the way of their studies, or they can’t see their kids _and_ me, or they would rather be with someone who takes time for themselves. They want their sex quick and dirty – a fun fling, a steamy affair – not... a slow and sensual romance. Apparently I’m a ‘hypocrite’ who is too ‘selfless’ and ‘should find a hobby’.”

Castiel considered that with no small amount of perplexion. Hadn’t all those women found a perfect partner in Dean? Castiel would have given anything to have someone care about him that much.

Dean sighed and rested his chin on the pillow under his head, blinking slowly as Castiel dried off the oil from his thighs. “Basically,” Dean said, slightly muffled, “they don’t really care that my job _is_ my hobby. Because apparently nobody in this world actually _gets_ the job they wanted to do all their life. Except me.”

Castiel felt a second twinge of jealousy, and leaned down to put a kiss on Dean’s neck. He still smelled like massage oil. “You’re a very lucky man, Dean,” he said, adjusting himself so he rested over Dean’s back. He began to rock against him, enough to start a friction heat in his groin to get himself hard again. “I wish my job was my hobby.”

Dean grinned. “Your job is practically every guy’s dream job. Seriously, you get _paid_ to bang people.”

Castiel shook his head morosely. “It’s not a glamourous job, Dean. Bad things happen.”

Dean didn’t turn around and ask questions like Castiel was expecting, which let Castiel know that Dean was already fully aware of what happened to sex workers. Castiel swallowed hard, frowning as he turned his gaze to his cock, putting a hand on it to get himself erect manually. Despite his desire to push deep into Dean, their conversation was making it difficult to rise. He would never have spoken this way to any other client, and that awareness weighed heavily on him.

Dean took a breath, preparing to change the subject. He peered over his shoulder, catching Castiel’s gaze and giving him a soulful look. “What position do you want me in, Jimmy?”

Jimmy...

Castiel blinked, for a second having forgotten that Dean was a client, and he was making love to Jimmy, not Castiel. Castiel hurriedly turned his eyes down to Dean’s ass, which Dean wiggled baitingly.

“Missionary,” Castiel replied gently. He looked up to see Dean smiling. “It should be comfortable for you.”

Dean nodded in acceptance, then rolled over with a grunt and a sigh. “Do I still need the pillow under my ass?”

Castiel nodded. “It would make it easier.”

Dean hummed in pleasure as Castiel slotted himself between Dean’s bowed legs. His eyes didn’t leave Castiel’s, his gaze intent and dark. Castiel leaned in – paused – then smiled and set his lips to Dean’s. Dean slipped his fingers into Castiel’s hair and scrunched it up, stroking the back of his head upward towards the crown. Dean tilted his head, and Castiel tilted the other way, both of them smiling as their tongues met.

Castiel rolled his lips closed and lapped his tongue over them as he lifted away, eyes set on Dean’s again. “You kiss excellently,” he said. To himself, he thought, yeah, he was going to miss Dean’s kisses when he was gone.

“Are we gonna make love now?” Dean asked breathlessly, eyes roaming Castiel’s face from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “You gotta... fuck me slow. And kiss me.”

Castiel nodded. “I shall. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, but... Can we have more oil, though? I don’t want it to hurt.”

“It won’t hurt,” Castiel assured him, but he sat up to reach for the oil anyway, since Dean wasn’t incorrect. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to Dean that happened to him earlier that night. “Spread your legs.”

Dean chuckled at the sensation as the oil trickled cold onto his hole, seeping down his perineum and onto the already-ruined pillow. He sighed heavily with a smile as Castiel set the oil aside.

“I’ll get a condom,” Castiel said to Dean, kissing his knee.

“There’s one in my jeans,” Dean said, gesturing at the pile of denim on the floor. “It’s ribbed. I haven’t had a chance to try it on someone else yet.”

“I should really use my own,” Castiel warned, but his bag was on the chair on the other side of the room, and he knew he only had the untextured kind. Dean busied himself with tugging on his cock, wanting to get hard again.

Castiel reached for Dean’s jeans, going into his pocket to find his phone, which he set on the nightstand. His hand then touched what felt like a wallet.

He pulled the wallet out, expecting to find a wad of singles from the club, or a scatter of unused condoms. But he discovered it was not a wallet at all; what he’d found was a police badge. A chill sank through Castiel’s bones, especially when he saw Dean’s photo and name on the ID half of the badge protector.

_Dean Winchester_. A lieutenant.

Castiel looked back at Dean, but Dean had his eyes closed, breathing slowly as he touched himself, concentrating on speeding up his refractory time. Castiel had a moment to look back at the badge, its pigmented black leather cover warming in his hands. Dean was a cop.

Castiel had serviced cops before. He knew they weren’t always the cream of the crop, sometimes they were the worst men of all when it came to the advantages they took, the things they thought they deserved to have for their money. Dean was nothing like those men. Dean seemed like a decent human being, and since he hadn’t arrested Castiel already, he probably wasn’t going to. Even if he was going to, it was already too late to escape. There was no point in panicking.

Castiel wasn’t bothered that Dean said he was a Marine instead. Lies were as common as breathing, in his experience. In placing the value of Dean’s actions over his spoken words, Castiel considered that Dean’s job was a mere detail, regardless of its implications. He was still a kind man.

Castiel put the badge back into Dean’s pocket, and finally found the condom he’d been looking for. He sat back on the bed, smiling at Dean when Dean cracked open an eye.

“Is it still usable?” Dean asked as Castiel checked for an expiry date in the light.

“Eighteen months. No holes. Should be fine to use.” Castiel grinned as Dean’s hand switched from his own dick to Castiel’s dick, pumping it hard to get the blood flowing. “Ah! Yes, that’s good, Dean.”

Castiel unwrapped the condom as he let Dean get him rock-hard. He groaned and shut his eyes as Dean stuck his thumb against his slit, pushing his foreskin down to rub the blood-flushed head. Dean was not the most skilled man Castiel had ever been touched by, but that didn’t matter when what he did was decent, and Castiel could open his eyes and see a hungry green gaze, attention rapt because Castiel’s pleasure was genuinely a cause of excitement for Dean.

Dean glanced to Castiel’s cock, then back up to his face. “C’mon, Jimmy,” he encouraged. He let go of his cock and Castiel _growled_ at the loss, then realised it was time to put the condom on. “Let me,” Dean said, taking the slippery shape out of Castiel’s hand. He pinched the tip so it would act as a reservoir, then rolled the thing on carefully. Castiel made a pleased sound as Dean pumped him a few times, letting the ribbed condom show its vaguely bumpy shape.

“Think that texture would actually make any difference?” Dean asked, hooking a hand up behind his head so he could look down and see what he was doing with Castiel’s cock. His underarm hair was slightly fluffy, matching the colour of the hair on his head. “I probably won’t really notice it, but you might.”

“In my experience a condom is a condom,” Castiel said blithely, leaning down close and sealing his lips to Dean for a slow and inviting kiss. He smiled as he nudged Dean away. “I don’t feel much. I’m doing this so you have the experience of being made love to. Don’t worry about me, just relax and enjoy it.”

Dean tried to reply, but Castiel shook his head and kissed him again. “I want to do this, Dean.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, letting Castiel get comfortable.

Castiel set the tip of his cock against Dean’s opening, sighing as he felt the _warmth_ of him, along with the wet sensation of the massage oil coating everywhere between Dean’s legs. Castiel didn’t ask Dean again if he was ready, just went ahead and slid inside when he saw Dean was relaxed, guided by his hand.

Dean gasped – and then _gasped_ , mouth open in a perfect ‘O’, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling. His hands curled up on Castiel’s shoulders, and Castiel laughed as he easily slid all the way inside, bottoming out with his balls resting on Dean’s skin. Dean murmured a long, unintelligible note, now gazing directly at Castiel. His eyebrows were raised in total surprise.

“How does that feel?” Castiel asked, rocking out, then back in, gentle enough that Dean rolled into it, hips tipping upwards to allow Castiel to sink deep. Castiel even marvelled at how well-prepped he’d made Dean; for a first timer, he was pretty loose. Astoundingly tight inside, yes, but _relaxed_.

“S-s-so good,” Dean stammered, hands shaking as he reached to grasp the hair at the back of Castiel’s head. “Oh god, Jimmy...” He moaned, still looking completely stunned. “Ohhh, make love to me...”

Castiel nodded, leaning in to kiss him. They smooched, Dean purring and cooing as Castiel pushed into him, not really going in and out, more resting inside him and swaying against him. Dean nuzzled Castiel’s face, pecking his lips and cheeks with little kisses.

Castiel shut his eyes and actually began to enjoy the sensation. There was merit to the heat of Dean and the wet slide as he moved inside him; Dean’s kisses made it better, as did his hands, as he tried to hold on to Castiel while they sank together.

“What’s it like?” Dean asked in a dangerous whisper. “Am I as tight for you as I think I am?”

Castiel nodded, eyes finding Dean’s and feasting on the emotion in his expression. “You feel superb. Silken.”

“Silken,” Dean repeated. “That’s nice, that’s a nice way to say it. Mmmm. You... You feel like... Bliss.”

“Bliss?” Castiel smiled, tilting his head and rolling his nose against Dean’s, breathing over his exquisitely red lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“Like,” Dean flashed a grin, then returned to looking bewildered and needy. “Like having a drink after running,” he said, eyes dipping to Castiel’s lips. “Water never tasted so good.”

Castiel felt a very unplaceable rush of pleasure from those words. Dean made him feel close like nobody had felt close before. Connected, he felt connected. He liked the way Dean breathed.

“Oh―” Dean began to sweat, a shine appearing on his forehead and the dip over his lips. “Jimmy... Jimmy, yes...”

Castiel licked his lips, for the second time feeling he was being addressed by the wrong name. It seemed worse now; Castiel knew Dean’s last name, he knew his real job – but Dean knew Castiel’s fake name, and nearly nothing about his life outside of this room. _Jimmy_ had been left behind at the club. Every time Dean had seen Jimmy, flirtatious and moaning loudly, he had complained. Dean liked the man that talked like a Civil War nut. Dean was not making love to Jimmy. Dean was making love to Castiel.

Castiel shut his eyes and kissed him, hoping to lick and nudge away all his impossible desires.

Dean shivered and started to cuddle Castiel as they moved together; Castiel smiled into the kiss and broke it enough to see Dean meet his eyes. Dean breathed hastily through his nose, biting his lower lip, moaning with his mouth closed. He parted his lips to whisper, “You’re so good at this. Feels so fucking good, Jimmy.”

With a trembling smile, Castiel whispered back, “I do the very best I know how, the very best I can, and I mean to keep doing so until the end.”

Dean breathed a grin, but when he didn’t comment, Castiel explained, “Abraham Lincoln.”

Dean screwed his eyes up tight, trying to keep down a smile. “Fuck, Jimmy. You freak.”

“Can you blame me, really?” Castiel whispered, grinning against Dean’s throat, nipping and kissing and nosing at him. “I don’t want you to forget me. I would rather be the man who quoted Abraham Lincoln than a nobody.”

Dean’s hand tugged on Castiel’s hair, and Castiel looked up. Dean shook his head. “Jimmy, you were never a nobody. I told you this already. I ain’t gonna forget you, you hear me?”

Castiel pushed into him again, harder, making Dean cry out and collapse backwards, panting manically, eyelashes fluttering. Castiel kissed his chin, trying to shove Dean’s words out of his mind. He wanted to hear them, and he wanted them to be true, but he couldn’t let this _happen_. He was Jimmy. Jimmy, not Castiel.

Dean groaned, spreading his legs out further, hands sliding all across Castiel’s back to pull him deeper. Dean tipped his hips, and Castiel let himself be guided inside again and again, Dean’s hole now having become a warm and slippery embrace that was easy to return to. Dean’s spine curved as he stretched out, pushing aches and tension away from him, finding new angles for Castiel to rut into.

Dean shoved at Castiel with a thigh, and he rolled them over onto their sides, so Castiel was lying on his left, and Dean was on his right. Dean looked between their bodies and panted, smiling; his legs were wrapped around Castiel, his cock still buried deep inside.

“Fuck me like this,” Dean said, kissing Castiel on the nose, on his eyelids. “God, Jimmy. You’re so fuckin’ awesome.” He peppered Castiel’s forehead with kisses, climbing halfway over him to ride him half-sideways, a thigh over his hip, the weight of Dean’s torso on his right elbow, his left hand on Castiel’s hip to guide himself down onto his erection.

Castiel gazed up at the other man in wonder, feeling the sparks of deep emotional attachment that he feared the weight of. It felt so good, it felt good to have Dean turn his hips and thrust his hole full of Castiel, and it felt good to feel anchored and safe when their eyes met, and it felt good to yield to a kiss laced with the flavour of another person with real feelings... but Castiel was on the threshold of breaking down, and in that way, he felt like an old engine part, not a human.

But then came Dean with his charming, goofy smile, and a happy giggle as he rolled completely on top of Castiel, riding his lap with an excited shine in his eyes. There was Dean pulling on his own cock and saying, “Fuck, Jimmy, I wish I could do this with you forever,” and leaning down and kissing his lips, turning his head and rolling his tongue in funny and unexpected patterns. And there was Dean laughing as Castiel’s cock slipped out of him, and Dean saying, “Jeez, don’t worry, I got it. Hey, is there anything you wanna try? Is this okay for you? ...Jimmy?”

“Castiel,” Castiel said.

“What?” Dean squinted as he sank back down onto Castiel’s cock, biting his lip as it went halfway in, and he made use of that to stimulate Castiel’s sensitive cockhead.

Castiel was breathless and pleasured and _dizzy_ as he replied, “M-My name. It’s Castiel.”

“...Not Jimmy?” Dean said, as he pulled Castiel’s cockhead in and out of his entrance, offering a wealth of new and strange hot-to-cold, tight-to-open sensations. “Is Jimmy your... what’s the word, your stage name?”

Castiel nodded, eyes set keenly on Dean. “Please call me Castiel.”

Dean made a face that expressed his feelings so broadly that there was no longer a need to say anything aloud. He was so caring and loving and accepting, Castiel couldn’t understand how such an extraordinary person could even exist. Yet, here he was, sinking his heat all the way down to Castiel’s base and making electric sparks start a fearsome charge in Castiel’s groin.

Dean hummed with a lopsided smile, eyes on Castiel’s lips as he fell down to kiss him. “Mmm... Mwmm... Mwah!” Dean beamed as he pulled up. His legs remained open and he lay on top of Castiel, still with his cock inside. They weren’t really moving, but Dean seemed okay lying there being _full_. “Don’t strippers and escorts and stuff usually have the more fancy name be the stage name? ‘Jimmy’ seems kinda dull compared to the real one, no offence.”

Castiel managed to smile. Dean was so _easy_ to be with. “My real name is too complicated. People pronounce it wrong.”

“I wouldn’t,” Dean retorted. “Casteel.”

Castiel shut his eyes and grinned. “Cas-ti-el.”

Dean made a discontent noise. “Wow, sorry, man. Cas... Cas-tiel. Castiel.”

“Yes.” Castiel peered up at him, then gasped as Dean began to shift his hips once more, setting a lit match to tinder throughout Castiel’s system.

“Why me, Cas?” Dean asked, a very honest gravity in his voice. “Why tell me your name? I know you don’t kiss all your clients, so―”

“I don’t kiss _any_ of my clients,” Castiel interjected. “You are the first customer I’ve willingly kissed.”

Dean paused, adding that fact to his mental repository. “Same question,” he said after a few long seconds. “Why me?”

Castiel felt a shimmer of upset and need and contentment course through him. He didn’t know if it was acceptable to say the words that came readily to his tongue. Was this still an escort-customer relationship? Was this simply the breaking of his will, at long last? Or was this destined to be something more?

Eventually – perhaps after a whole minute – he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, finger-combing Dean’s hair as Dean swayed on him and gasped as he hit his prostate. “I don’t know why it was you. Perhaps I was at the end of my tether and you were the only thing waiting to catch me.”

Dean pondered that, but something gave Castiel the impression Dean thought the suggestion dubious. Dean then hauled both of them over again, so Castiel was above and Dean was laid out below, spread out for the ease of rocking into.

“Perhaps,” Dean said, fingers stroking through the stubble on Castiel’s jaw, “you were falling already. Tether’s been gone for a while. And I was looking for someone to catch.”

Castiel grunted as he shoved himself in deep, shutting his eyes at the pleasure of it. “Yes,” he whispered, his breath tumbling over Dean’s lips. “Yes, I think you’re right.” He opened his eyes and peered with great passion into the deep wells of thought he saw in Dean’s gaze. “Dean, is it safe for me to tell you – I think I― I think I might love you. I said it before, but I mean it. I truly mean it.”

Dean’s face seemed to shatter, like his mirror-mask of burdens broke as the glass hit the ground. He was left smiling, earnest twinkles in his eyes, sailboat turns in the corners of his mouth. “I thought I was crazy.”

“What?”

Dean stroked Castiel’s back as he sank into Dean again, their lips meeting briefly before Dean breathed his explanation: “I thought I was crazy for actually feeling it. It was meant to be like... well, you were there. I wanted to pretend to be in love. And then you broke all your rules, and I broke all my rules, and you’re Castiel and I’m Dean and I think I love you too.”

Castiel laughed brokenly, uncomfortably, resting his forehead on Dean’s cheek as he went on making love to him.

“But... Cas... Do you think... maybe we have it wrong? Maybe we – we tried too hard?”

Castiel lifted his face to look at Dean, seeing the trepidation in his eyes.

“Tried too hard,” Dean said again, his voice lower, harsher. He sighed, eyes turning towards the ceiling. “We’ll ask again when this is over, maybe. Right now we’re both confused.”

Castiel had his dick in Dean and was enjoying it; he entertained that bias, and he supposed Dean had a point. “Come morning, if you still love me, let me know.”

“I will,” Dean said, kissing Castiel. Castiel didn’t care to ask whether he meant he would still love him, or he would tell him. Either way, the morning seemed like a long time away.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

When Dean finally came, he almost cried. It was weird and gross and emotional, but the foremost thought in his mind was _yes! I knew this feeling existed_. He hiccuped and shivered as he came down from the high, trembling as Castiel soothed him with kisses and nuzzles on his cheek.

“Ugggh, that was off-the-chart awesome,” Dean groaned, deliriously trying to see the ceiling through all the floating lights. “Hey, you almost done?”

Castiel nodded, out of breath as he kept rocking forward, pushing and pushing and grunting as he kept kissing Dean too, so close that Dean could feel him swelling inside him. Perhaps the sensation was imagined, but it was hard to tell...

“Dean― Oh, Dean―”

“That’s it. That’s it, Cas. Come on. Come on, you’re so close.”

Castiel moaned and sank his mouth to Dean’s, growling and trying for ten kisses all at once, taking Dean’s breath away quite thoroughly. Dean had to wriggle his lips free in order to breathe, and as he did, he hushed his lover, kissing his ear. He licked his earlobe too, knowing it would undo Castiel completely.

“Deeeeeean―”

Dean breathed over his ear, rumbling softly against it, “Come for me, beloved.”

Castiel bucked hard, and Dean gasped as he felt the condom fill up with a new heat. Dean’s heart was racing, exhilarated right to his toes. Castiel was sliding out already, but Dean wanted him to stay in, no matter how sore he was now; it was so good to have him there. Now that he was gone, Dean felt hollow.

Dean collapsed, boneless and enervated, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Castiel seemed unaffected by his orgasm; he got off the bed and tied up the condom, dropping it into the tiny trash can by the door. Dean groaned, wanting his warmth again.

Castiel wiped Dean clean without a fuss, sitting at the edge of the bed to clean his hands with a dampened towel. Dean watched him work, offering each hand, left then right. Then he let Castiel wipe him dry between his legs, before he realised he might actually need more than a wipe-down.

“Back in five,” Dean said, inching to the edge of the bed, then padding into the bathroom. He looked back, but Castiel wasn’t bothered or surprised that Dean needed a moment alone.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Castiel reassured him, and Dean closed the bathroom door.

When he came back, Dean threw his towel to the floor and clambered into bed and under the covers with an exhausted sigh. Castiel smiled as he slunk over Dean’s body, pressing fluidly against him. His cock was soft again, but god, it was still hot. Dean made a long sound of delight, hooded eyes looking at his most favourite person in the whole wide world right now. Cas was dishevelled as hell. His dark hair was wild, collapsed strands folded over his forehead, tufted up madly over the rest of his head. The dips under his sparkling blue eyes showed his fatigue, but he didn’t look ready to sleep yet. He shone, and he smiled from deep within.

They shared a slow kiss, passionate and rolling. Dean let Castiel fall between his legs again. It was such a good place for him to be.

Eventually, Castiel caught his breath, and he lazily lifted his head and gazed at Dean with bleary eyes. “Dean... What was that you called me when I came? Beloved...?”

Dean blushed. “Uh. Y- Yeah.”

“Why did you call me that?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder against his pillow, stroking Castiel’s hair back into a semi-tidy formation. “Kind of... a romantic fantasy of mine, I guess. I always end up giving my friends nicknames. Like my brother is Sammy – he hates that because he says he’s too old for it, but I don’t fucking care, because he’s my little brother and he’s always been Sammy. And then there’s you, and―”

“You called me ‘Cas’ before.”

“Heh.” Dean let out a small breath. “Yeah. That just sorta... slipped out. But ‘beloved’... I don’t know. D’you like it?”

Castiel’s eyes lowered to Dean’s nipple, then back up. He nodded gently.

Dean smirked. “Cool.”

“I like being ‘Cas’ as well,” Castiel said. “I’m your Cas. It’s non-interchangeable. Anyone else could be beloved, but only I can be Cas.”

Dean chuckled, fingers drifting in his hair. “Makes me all tingly when you just go along with my crap like that.”

“It’s not crap, it’s lovely,” Castiel said firmly. “I’ve never met a man unafraid to show love.”

Dean’s smile wilted ever so slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling, where the gold from the bedside lamp cast one big distended circle. “You must be reading me wrong, Cas. I’m not unafraid, far from it.”

“ _Non timebo mala_ ,” Castiel said. “I will fear no evil.”

“Love ain’t evil,” Dean smirked.

Castiel laughed once, and it was a bitter laugh. “The love I’ve seen? I doubt you would have a word for it that didn’t equate to evil.”

Dean looked down at his lover and felt hurt. _Bad things happen_. Too many bad things.

Dean swallowed and reached to turn out the light, leaving the room dark blue, as it had been more than an hour previously. “There’s no evil in this bed. Not with me.”

Castiel pushed closer, sighing as he rested his cheek on Dean’s shoulder and put a single kiss there. “ _Non timebo mala_.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. “ _Non timebo mala_.” He turned his head and kissed Castiel’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose. “Sleep well, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean. My beloved.”

Dean bit his lip and grinned, squirming under the blanket at how good that felt. He smoothed his hand back through Castiel’s hair, again and again, stroking him to soothe him to sleep.

Eventually all movement fell to nothing, and they drifted closer to unconsciousness. Dean still gazed at Castiel though, despite not being able to see him in the dark. He could sense how peaceful he was. Dean felt lucky to have him.

Dean fell asleep feeling loved, and that was a feeling he hadn’t felt this strongly since childhood. It was a feeling he would remember for the rest of his life.


	4. Morning After

Dean woke up slowly.

He stretched lengthways in the bed, shuddering around his bones as the covers were pushed away from his bending wrists, from his arching spine and trembling toes. He wore a lazy smile. Yellow Sunday morning sun drifted through the closed curtain, and the whole motel room had the aura of restful sleep. Dean’s muscles stung like a motherfucker, but it felt good. He felt like he’d done something worth the ache.

He took a deep, filling breath, turning his head to look at Castiel. In sleep, Castiel’s face had cleared of hard lines, stress replaced with serenity, lips rounded, eyelashes dark and pretty. The bags under his eyes and the tan line of a permanent frown sort of gave him away, though. Dean reached over and brushed his cheek with a finger, propped up his own face on his knuckles to watch the other man sleeping.

Dean didn’t have a single regret, and he was pretty sure he should have had at least a hundredfold what he usually had after sleeping with a stranger. But there was nothing. Cas had never really felt like a stranger, maybe that was it. Maybe Dean had asked all the right questions, the ones about him as a person rather than him as a somebody. Now he felt bliss, the same bliss he’d felt last night.

Instinct urged Dean wanted to wake Castiel up with a cuddle. But while there were no regrets, there was the conscious knowledge that Dean’s time with him was up. It was morning, his eight hundred had run out. And the fact of the matter was that _this_ , whatever was between him and Cas, whether it was love or not, was still a paid relationship. It was a business transaction. Dean had paid for love, he got love. Now it was time to go.

He didn’t give Cas a cuddle. But he did give him a kiss on the nose before he swung his legs out of bed, wincing at the ache. His ass wasn’t as twingey as he’d expected, but it did feel bumped. Like an old bruise.

Dean downed a much-needed glass of water from the sink in the kitchenette, then made use of the bathroom and made himself look presentable in the mirror.

He went and put his clothes on, keeping quiet so Castiel wouldn’t wake. He kept watching him, though. It was nice to have someone to watch over.

When he was ready to go, Dean stood by the bed, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He pocketed his phone, which had been on the nightstand, and he checked he had everything else. Keys, police badge, wallet. He saw Castiel’s phone, too, right next to the lamp.

Checking Castiel was still asleep, Dean picked up the phone and unlocked it. It was so old, it didn’t have a personalised lock. Dean was glad. He didn’t snoop, he just went straight to the menu screen and found the one that said **[ Add New Contact ]**.

He typed his name (Dean), and added a star so his name would stand out from the others. Just in case Cas wanted to call again. He could if he wanted. Dean would drop everything to see him, he was certain of it. And even if it wasn’t for payment... well, that was probably straying into ‘fantasy’ territory. Dean wasn’t special enough to warrant being an escort’s free call.

Mustn’t be too clingy, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t contact Cas again unless Cas contacted him first.

With that done, Dean put the phone back and moved closer to the door. He felt a bit uneasy, like he was forgetting something. Guilt shadowed him, so he hurriedly searched the room for notepaper, and was relieved to find some in the nightstand drawer. He uncapped the crappy ballpoint pen beside it, and wrote in big letters:

_Don’t go into work today!! (You might not have a job). – D xx_

_P.S. Burn this note or I’ll get in trouble_

He put the cap back on the pen and twirled it between his fingers. Castiel just looked so darling, lying there all naked and fucked out. It was so easy to imagine him smiling, carefree. Dean ached at the thought: would Cas ever see a time like that? Confidence – easy laughter? A pang of morosity crept through Dean’s heart: he might never know. It wasn’t his place to know, or to help Castiel achieve his dreams. Dean was just a customer.

But knowing that couldn’t change a fact: Dean was sad to leave him. He put down the pen and leaned into the mattress, reaching to put one last kiss on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I still love you, Cas,” he muttered. “But I have to go.”

He walked out of the motel room and into a streak of fresh, frosty sunlight, slowly shutting the door behind him. Eyes closed, he stood with his fingers on the door handle for a while. It took some time to adjust to knowing he was leaving Cas behind, maybe forever.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened, lifting his hand away. Besides the loss, he felt bothered by something. What was it...?

Oh, two things. Firstly, his empty stomach. And secondly, the motherfucking _dent_ in his motherfucking _car_.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel woke up alone. He pushed himself up, dazedly looking around. His voice cracked as he squinted his eyes and said, “Dean?”

There was no answer, because Dean was gone.

Castiel tried not to feel anything as he packed up. He took a shower, checked his phone for messages (none), and put some coins in the vending machine outside while still in bare feet and wrapped in a towel.

Moving in autopilot, he turned the TV on, cycling through channels until he saw something familiar: a game of basketball, something pulled from the sports archives. He stared at the darting blur of Michael Jordan in his prime, and was soothed by the rhythm of 90s hip-hop and the muffled hubbub of a since-retired commentator. For a moment, Castiel felt joy.

But then, as he sat at the end of the bed and ate his highly processed and overpriced snack food, he felt that usual sinking feeling in the lowest part of his gut. Knowing he’d loved and had it thrown back in his face.

Just a game for a night. That’s all he was to everyone else.

Dean had seemed so different.

Ah, well. There was a reason humans were such hardy creatures. They could hit new lows and still look the same as the day before. Nobody would know Castiel was dead inside, he wouldn’t show it.

It was only once he turned to leave and looked around the room one last time to check if he’d forgotten anything that he noticed the notepaper by the lamp. He picked it up, and his eyebrows lifted as he read what it said. Out of a job? How could that be?

Castiel looked down again, and reached to pick up the money the pad had been weighing down. This wasn’t the $800 Dean had paid last night, this was the set of singles and fives he was supposed to have tucked into the garter straps of the female strippers. And he’d apparently left it for Castiel.

Castiel counted it quickly, and rubbed his forehead in confusion when he was done. “Ninety dollars,” he muttered. Was it a... tip? Was it payment for the ‘extras’? ‘Extras’ which, incidentally, Castiel had forgotten to name as Dean had requested them.

Strange.

Castiel ripped the note off the pad and folded it, with no intention to burn it. He ripped the second and third pages too, because the pen nib had pressed imprints through, and Dean clearly didn’t want evidence left. Castiel knew the stakes; as a police officer, Dean had no place paying for sex. But―

Oh. Suddenly it all made sense.

Police officers at Spank last night. Dean had been avoiding his ‘friends’. They must have known about the brothel in the back rooms, they must have been there to arrest―

Shit.

Castiel’s bag dropped to the carpet and his hand covered his mouth, holding in a wail of distress. The other sex workers, they were probably all caught. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Arrest the sex workers, and if there were no sex workers, there was nobody for the clients to pay. Huh! As if that would work. The world’s oldest profession was going nowhere.

Castiel hid his face in his hands, at a loss for what to do now. Dean was right, his note said a lot more than what was written. Castiel would be out of a job. Dean had saved him from arrest by bringing him out here last night. Their association had been a saving grace for both of them.

Castiel wanted to hope Dean directing him away from capture meant he still loved him. Because Castiel did too, despite being abandoned. Huh! No wonder he got hurt so often. He loved and forgave people too easily, even when they didn’t deserve it.

With a sigh, Castiel checked the time. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning. He had to get to the Gas-N-Sip quickly; his shift started at seven-thirty.

He shut the door to the motel room and went to give the key back, not making eye contact with whoever was behind the desk in the office.

_No rest for the wicked_. The phrase rolled around in his head as he set off, catching a taxi and riding to his second job – now his only job.

His cab fee was $30. He paid in singles and fives.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

On Monday morning, Dean walked into the precinct to see that, unsurprisingly, the lockup was full of strippers.

“These are the ones we had cause to keep longer than twenty-four hours,” Captain Mills explained, lounging against the brickwork, facing the two cells. She and Dean were out of earshot of the prisoners, separated by a see-through plastic wall. Still, she kept her voice down. “From the paperwork, it looks like we’re talking to one Clarissa, one Tish, one Hannah. And Eve. We had to let Jen go, she was only sixteen. Eve intended to keep her around until she was legal age, then auction off... something. God knows what. You’d think the rest of them would know she wasn’t a prostitute like them.”

Dean pressed a tight, uncomfortable smile between his lips. “It’s ‘sex worker’, actually. Or ‘escort’.”

“What, now?”

“Escort,” Dean said again. “‘Prostitute’ is... kinda gross.”

“Look at you, all Mr. Feminism,” Jody said proudly. She reached to pat Dean on the arm.

Dean shifted his weight. “Just saying, okay,” turning his gaze to the concrete floor and adjusting the gun in his thigh holster. “When escorts call themselves escorts, you respect it. It means they’re doing it because they want to, or they can, not because they need to. It means they’re still afloat, somewhere in their heads, and they think they’re doing good for themselves. Believe me, you don’t want to break that. The minute they start calling themselves a prostitute, you start worrying.”

Captain Mills looked at Dean strangely, and Dean had to turn his head and face the hallway to avoid her eyes. Her voice was smooth yet cutting as she asked, “When did _you_ get to be such an expert?”

Dean swallowed and looked straight at her. “That’s none of your business, sir.”

The captain smirked. As always, she was more impressed by his companionable gumption than straight answers. Dean knew her well.

“As it turns out,” Mills said, straightening up, “this particular brothel had ties to the Yellow-Eyes after all.”

Dean balked. “Shit. Good call, then.”

“Yeah,” Mills said grimly. “One down, unknown total to go.” She turned her head and clicked her cheek against her teeth. “Sooner or later that empire’s gonna fall. Every time we get closer...”

“Just _that_ much more determined, huh?” Dean finished. “We’re goin’ good, Jody. We’ll get there.”

“I let seven girls out of lock-up this morning,” Jody imparted, glancing serenely at Dean. “We’re still processing the rest. We’re offering them deals; they stay out of trouble so long as they testify. The Yellow-Eyes practically had them sign their souls over. Those vermin are still at it. Preying on beautiful, naïve failures, buying their loyalty. _This_ one—” Jody jabbed a finger at one of the women in the cage. “She was the ringleader at Spank. These poor girls are so afraid to rat out their boss.”

Stalking forward, Jody wrenched open the door and entered the walkway beside the lock-ups. Dean followed, shutting the door behind him.

Captain Mills turned to the cell on her right, rapping her knuckles on the first railing. “Hey, Mama,” she called, voice hard. “That’s what they call you, isn’t it? Real name Eve Jefferson?”

A pale woman in a long white dress turned around. She was pretty, but had a dangerous spark in her eye. “More pointless questions to ask, I take it.” She curled a manicured nail around a railing, slinking up to the bars to glare at Jody.

“I like pointless questions,” Jody countered. “And I won’t be nice about it, either, so don’t go hoping for that. Your girls are so quick to leap to your defense – you’re sweet to them, aren’t you? Oh-so-kind. They so easily forget you’re their slave trader.”

“A brothel is no place for snideness,” Eve said. “My girls are heartbroken and waylaid, they don’t respond to a harsh voice. Even my Jimmy has been through a lot. I didn’t see him come through here. Couldn’t catch _him_ , could you?”

Jody sneered. “Only a matter of time, Eve. There’s only so many James Novaks in this city.”

Dean’s eyes darted to Jody, then back to Eve. Thankfully neither woman seemed to notice his panic, too busy glaring at each other. “Leave you to it, Captain,” Dean murmured quickly to Jody. Jody looked from Eve to Dean, then back.

Dean left to return to work, mind echoing with the name _James Novak, Jimmy Novak_.

Or, as he really was: _Castiel_.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel sat on the curb opposite Spank, watching the late afternoon traffic blur the dust in the road. His cheek ached from his fist pushing into it for so long, and his ass still hurt from the john that rode too hard without enough lube, but the memory of Dean made everything hurt a little less.

That was not to say the big sign on the club’s doors reading ‘OUT OF BUSINESS’ didn’t hurt. It hurt a lot.

If he was going to keep paying for food – and for everything he owed on top of that – he was going to need another job. The housing agency had turned him down _again_ ; apparently they didn’t like beggars. It wasn’t his clothes that gave him away (he had a suit), it was the fact he was all but grovelling at the receptionist’s desk to get the company to accept his résumé. It wasn’t his fault he had no experience, he’d never been given a _chance_ to _get_ experience. It was a gruesome Catch-22 that made him want to hang himself and be done with it.

Head in his hands, he sighed.

He had one option left. It was not an option he was willing to take, but a will yet unbroken was a will he was prepared to bend. He would have to streetwalk. That meant staying out past dark every night, eating out of pocket, getting into cars with handsy strangers to perform lewd acts for questionable fees, and living with no protection whatsoever. Nobody to have his back. And, for bonus points, the whole time he would have to avoid cops in disguise.

He started to wonder if being arrested might be better. It wasn’t like he had a whole lot going for him right now.

Castiel stood up, creaking at the knees. His suit was comfortable, and it made him feel less like human scum, but he wouldn’t exactly pick up many johns if he looked like a john himself. It was back to tatty, too-tight t-shirts, unlaced shoes and slashed jeans for him.

Black coffee for dinner.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Dean looked.

It was part of his job to hunt down criminals who somehow evaded the system, and knowing they ought to be brought to justice was always motivation enough. Sometimes it wasn’t a criminal he was looking for; sometimes it was a runaway victim. A child who fled an abusive household. A perfectly normal person who’d been robbed, left with nothing. These people could be homeless, faceless, nameless.

Sometimes Dean had to give up the chase. But more often than not, he found who he was looking for.

He was good at finding people.

He’d been told to find James Novak, then bring him in for questioning. Dean worked under the guise that it was just his job, but his motivation ran deeper than that.

Dean ransacked the police systems, patrolled the area around Spank, asked a dozen people a dozen questions, and still got nothing. After a few days, he stopped looking for James Novak. Instead he looked solely for Castiel.

Jody peered over Dean’s shoulder, leaning on the back of his wheely chair. Seeing his searches on screen, she asked, “How do you know that’s his real name?”

Dean replied, “Talked to him at the club. He was... kinda flirty.” It was the truth. It was not the whole truth. But it was, indeed, nothing but the truth.

And yet, despite Dean’s greatest efforts, Castiel was elusive. There was no telling where he’d gone, where he lived, where he worked now. There was nothing recent about him online. Dean did dig up a twenty-one-year-old article about a wealthy couple named Novak, who’d perished when their concorde crashed, leaving behind a teenager who did _look_ a bit like Cas – but Dean set that aside. It was a black-and-white family photo, he couldn’t tell if they had blue eyes.

Soon, Dean’s mission ceased to be about being _told_ to find the guy. Dean _had_ to. There was no knowing what trouble Cas might be in, if he was even still in town. Dean regretted, regretted, _regretted_ leaving that morning, not asking where he could find Cas later. He’d made some mistakes in his life but none he wished he could walk back as much as that one.

If Cas was in danger right now, or starving, it was Dean’s fault. He couldn’t call off this search until he found him.

On the afternoon marking thirteen days since the raid at Spank, Jody screeched to a halt beside Dean’s desk. “Novak— You’re still on that? Jesus _Christ_ , Dean, he’s one sex worker. We need your help on a robbery on fifth. Leave this. No, put it _down_ , no excuses. Move on.”

She strode off again, and Dean was forced to consider other things. He slipped a photocopy of that article into a folder, though. He took it home.

He didn’t stop. Every night he sat up making calls, sending a sketch artist’s rendition of Cas’ face to local companies, asking if he’d applied for a job there. He even put up a few ‘wanted’ posters.

Nothing. So much nothing. All the calls he answered were pranks. The posters were soon torn down, covered with billboard ads, graffitied, or mushed in the rain. Dean wasn’t given permission to put up laminated ones.

At work things moved swiftly forward: new cases, new crimes, new people to track.

But although his active search eventually faded to a full stop, deep down, Dean did not give up on Cas. He couldn’t. If anything, he needed to know he was safe. The man never left his daily thoughts.

Dean left his cellphone on twenty-four seven, kept at full charge. If, by chance, Castiel ever did call, Dean would be waiting.


	5. One Month Later: Beneath the Overpass

After a month of streetwalking every night, Castiel had a sore throat and sore feet. He could get more clients in one night out here than he got through in a week at Spank, but the acts were less demanding (blowjob, handjob, five-minute alleyway fuck), and his prices for each act were lower. He wanted to charge fifty bucks for a blowjob like he usually did, but no john was willing to pay that much. Out here, he wasn’t worth their time. Streetwalkers were two-a-penny in the shady part of town.

These days, after his shift ended at the Gas-N-Sip, he got changed and stashed his staff vest in the cleaning closet so his co-worker Nora wouldn’t see it, then snuck out the back door.

He went on foot; his new haunt wasn’t too far away. The sun was hazy through the clouds, and gave the air a slightly pink hue. Castiel smiled at an old lady as she dawdled past, walking her lilac poodle. He turned to watch the poodle keep up on its cute trotting feet, and he almost ran shoulder-first into a lamppost. Embarrassed, he set himself right, and walked on.

Soon Castiel left the road, heading for an open space below a massive overpass.

Evening sunlight came through the nearby autumn trees, spilling into thick lines in the air as the road dust floated down off the bridge above. Castiel listened to the low drone of the traffic, while counting a few cars parked here and there around the clearing.

He raised his arms at his sides to balance as he stepped, skipped and skidded on his boot tread down a gritty embankment, finally landing on solid ground at the base of the dusty expanse. This was a construction site; its workers had left it deserted. Orange cement mixers and plastic sheeting lay dotted around the place, among bricks and metal poles.

The noise of the overpass grew louder as Castiel approached. Vines hung down in tangles from the dark bridge, flourishing in the all-day sun. Even now, as sunset approached, there were no tall buildings to block the light. Castiel felt his back prickling with sweat, brought on by the unseasonal heat.

He touched his hand to his back pocket, triple-checking that he had condoms. He pulled out his phone, noting the time. Almost four o’clock.

Hopping up onto one of the concrete boulders that supported the bridge’s legs, Castiel stood for a while, surveilling the cars on site. A donut truck was parked there, and its owner was using the construction site’s water supply to wash the vehicle. Behind the donut truck, a large white truck was idling with the engine on. It had a bulbous fringe over the driver’s compartment that read ‘American Red Cross Blood Drive’. Figures were visible through the tinted windows, sharp arm movements indicating they were mid-argument. Further along, a few young men were lying back on the hoods of their cars, smoking languidly. In the distance, some black girls had set up a boombox and were having a dance party. Only the bassline and the chirps of their voices reached Castiel’s ears.

Castiel turned his head to see a roaring engine swerve into the site from the main road, window open, both the driver and passenger cheering, waving beer bottles out of the windows. The back tires cut loops into the dust as they swirled in a handbrake turn, slammed the donut truck with their bumper, then drove back out to the main road without pausing. Shouts and curses followed them, as well as the whoops of a scattered crowd well-entertained.

Castiel took his time to find his target. He eventually saw some people watching him. He felt no particular inclination to approach them, but they were looking at him, and nobody else was. He climbed off his plinth and crossed the dust, walking as casually as he dared, so as not to look eager.

“‘Sup, baby,” called a blonde woman in a bikini, perched atop the roof of the Jeep. “What’re you doing out here all alone?”

“Aww, don’t, Lil, you’ll scare him,” crooned a smaller woman, with skin as pale as milk and dark kohl around her eyes, wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt. “Look at him, he looks terrified.”

A bearded man cackled from the front seat of the car, wrists crossed over the steering wheel. A sneering, nasal voice escaped his mouth, just a little bit too slow, “This your first time outside, boy? You picked a fun neighbourhood.”

Castiel managed a smile, slinking up to the Jeep, running his finger along the hood. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing,” he assured the three of them. “I’m Jimmy. Any of you looking to make an afternoon in a fun neighbourhood a little... more fun?” He tilted his head, giving the women his sweetest look. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The women looked at each other, cooing in amusement.

“Hey, spitball,” the man said, drawing Castiel’s attention down. Castiel noticed there was no glass in the Jeep’s windshield. “You make good money whoring out your ass for strangers?”

Castiel shrugged. “A fair amount.”

“You get any work today already?”

“Alistair,” chided the shorter woman, “Come on, this wasn’t on the books.”

Alistair ignored her. “No answer, prettyboy?”

Castiel gulped. “I, um. I’ve done all right. If you’re interested, I’m sure we can work out some kind of deal. How would you like me?”

The man’s smirk grew to seem smug, and his beady grey eyes narrowed in contempt. “Ooh, I’m thinking face-down, scratched-up...” he spoke even slower, “pockets turned empty.”

Castiel stiffened. “D... Do you have any, perhaps, less aggressive requests?”

The blonde woman howled with laughter, head back, swinging her legs through the absent windshield. “He _is_ scared. You scare him, Alistair!”

“Mmmm, must be the beard,” Alistair pondered theatrically, scratching his chin with a dirty finger. “How about this, prettyboy – you hand over your cash, we leave you alone.”

Castiel exhaled. He took his hand off the hood of the car, eyes down. “I won’t be doing that. And neither will you.”

“Ooh-hoo-hoo-hooo,” the blonde woman jeered, elbowing the brunette. The brunette didn’t seem happy, but that was the least of Castiel’s cares right now. Alistair hopped out of his Jeep, eyes locked on Castiel’s while he reached into the car, pulling out a jagged-edged machete.

Castiel felt cold spikes running down his body under his skin, but recognising it as fear was too obvious. His brain had already moved past it; he was visualising the area without turning to look, planning his escape route. He couldn’t run; he’d need to take shelter with someone else. He had to trust that a stranger would protect him.

“Well? Come on, angel,” Alistair urged, stepping closer as Castiel stepped back. “It’s not complicated; empty your pockets, and you get to keep your pretty face.”

Castiel started to nod, hand out placatingly. “Okay. Okay, hang on.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans, rummaging around as if looking for cash. Instead he pulled out his knife, and thumbed the blade on its hinge until it clicked straight.

“Alistair, come on, let’s _go_ ,” the smaller woman said, touching Alistair’s chest, walking backwards alongside him as he bore down on Castiel.

“Thought you wanted a new windshield, Casey,” Alistair chided, not even looking at her. “Besides, does it really look like this pipsqueak could take me?”

Castiel blocked Alistair’s attack with a strong forearm, hard gaze settling on the bigger man. The machete was out of Castiel’s view. Alistair grunted, forcing Castiel back – his defence dropped; he raised his flicknife again, pointing out towards Alistair.

Alistair lunged— Castiel was caught around the jaw with a fist – he fell back, feeling a hot sting on his bottom lip. He righted himself, spitting blood into the dust. In a sweep, he spun back around, knife out to deflect Alistair’s advance. Alistair growled, baring his teeth as Castiel’s knife caught him on the side of his ribs.

Castiel threw a punch, aiming his fist beyond the point of contact so his hit packed more force. Alistair stumbled back – but came up laughing, fingers setting his jaw back into place.

He moved too quickly—

A brutal jab of Alistair’s machete thrust the blunt handle into Castiel’s wrist; Castiel’s knife tumbled out from between weakened fingers, and he cried out, cradling his wrist to his chest. Pain seared up the nerves, singeing in his shoulder and the back of his neck.

He was blind to the punch that came for him; he felt the world turn and the sunlight rotating around him. The ground met his knees, jarring his body into shock. He felt a boot kick his thigh, and he rolled away from the thump, only to be grabbed by two fists and lifted back to his feet. “Not putting up much of a fight, are you, Jimmy? This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. Hmm.”

Castiel collapsed in Alistair’s arms, trying to make himself a dead weight. Unfortunately Alistair took the offer to heart, and tossed him down. At first, Castiel just heard an almighty clang, reverberating upwards like a giant bell shooting into the air. But he peeked open his eyes, and saw the supporting beam for the bridge above him. His head had been the pendulum.

Only now did he feel the pain. He shut his eyes tight, knowing he was about to pass out. Lights and darkness played in his eyes like fireworks, exploding in time with the too-hard beat of his heart. He heard more noise, a bloodrush, a wolf-like growling, engines, a thousand voices talking at once.

He wished it would stop. He wished it would all stop, that _he_ could stop. He prayed the world would end so he’d be free.

But life was never so kind. He felt hands crammed into his pockets, hands rolling him over, hands pressing his face into the dirt when he tried to resist.

Then— A ferocious bark, followed by a gritty, dreadful rumble from the back of a hungry throat.

Surely that was the sound of Death laughing. He was coming for Castiel.

Castiel heard the shriek of “Alistair, I told you! I _told_ you!” and another of Alistair’s rumbly, wheezy laughs. Then a soft hand in his hair.

“You were right to be scared,” said the soft voice, soft fingers stroking his ear.

And then a yelp— “Leave it! Leave it, Alistair, let’s go! Run!”

“Get in the car! Get in the car!”

The Jeep’s engine joined the snarling, barking cacophony. Shouts came from all around; lights dimmed in Castiel’s eyes. He breathed, inhaling the smell of his own blood and acrid dust.

Pain quieted for a moment, because for that moment, when he opened his eyes, he was sure he saw an army of Death’s beasts approaching.

But the figures merged into one: a black dog stood with four paws in the dust, its body glowing with an aura of sunlight. The world was tilted; it was swallowed up by blood red.

One more bark...

Then silence.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“I am _not_ spending my life in _Wisconsin_ ,” Bela said, hands out beside her head. “You are _mad_. Both of you, you are actually crazy.”

Rowena rolled her eyes so far back in her head that they almost got lost.

Clea patted Rowena’s hand reassuringly. “She’s young, my darkling. There’s better places to be.”

Bela gritted out a frustrated noise, turning to pace the length of the blood donation truck. She reached the end, kicked the wall, then stormed back, aiming an accusing finger at the other women. “We agreed to go somewhere with sunshine. As far as I’m concerned, that means California.”

“Greece,” Clea said, plucking up a crucifix from around her neck, slinging it back and forth thoughtfully. She then lifted a tarot card from the table in front of her. “Not Greece.”

Bela scrunched her sleek hair up in her hands. “I’m so done with you. Both of you. You might as well take your share of the money, take your cards and your crystal balls and fuck off to Wisconsin. Enjoy your country house and open farmland, I’m going somewhere with a beach.”

With a scowl denting her otherwise dainty face, she yanked a medical-grade case off the wall and started scooping rolls of cash into it from the stainless steel table.

“My dear,” Rowena said, slipping her hand out from under Clea’s, then sidling up the van, avoiding row of padded reclining blood-donation chairs. “Och, my dear, you’ll be all by yourself if you go.” She took Bela’s hand, but Bela pulled it back in disdain.

“I’ve been alone for all of my bloody _life_ , Rowena. What difference would it make now?”

“You’re—” Rowena glanced back at Clea, then set her eyes on Bela, soft and encouraging. “You’re one of us now, aren’t you, lass. We’d never have pulled off this heist if it weren’t for you. Don’t you think that’s reason to stay?”

“So you need me, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Clea said, standing up. All of her religious decorations jingled in her cleavage as she came forward, compassion in her dark eyes. “We do need you, Miss Talbot. But...” She took Bela’s hand around the money-stuffed case, lowering it closed, then gently guiding Bela’s grip away. “But not just for this. For us.”

Her brown hand, silvered with rings, came to rest on Bela’s heart. “We are three. We cannot be made two.”

Bela sighed as her heart melted for what had to be the fiftieth time. Defeated, and somehow glowing with affection, she tucked her hair behind her ears and gave in. Her eyes drifted to Rowena, whose impressive lengthy curls of red hair had gotten tangled into Clea’s necklaces.

Bela rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine! Wisconsin it is, as utterly _repellent_ as I find the idea. But when _I’m_ rolling naked in money, you two had better be in another room.”

Rowena smirked, flirtatious eyes dancing over Clea’s close-cropped afro and overlarge hoop earrings. “I highly doubt that would a problem.”

Clea did not smile; she seemed distracted.

Rowena was immediately worried. “What now, my sweet, dark harmony?”

“Something is happening...” Clea shut her eyes to listen, either to the voice of the universe, or to something outside.

“I hear it too—” Bela rushed to the tinted window, eyes scouring the sun-flooded construction site outside. A donut truck blocked most of the view, but— “There, look.” She pointed. “Bloody hell.”

Clea chuckled at the sight of the bearded man’s machete. “My knife is bigger.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Rowena said, tracking the roughed-up victim as he stumbled under the bridge. She gasped as he was thrown against the supporting pillar. “We have to help him!”

“Oh, no, I did not sign up to be part of the W.I.T.C.H. brigade,” Bela said, folding her arms. “You two can go play magical girls outside, I’m staying here. With the money.”

“Please!” Rowena retorted. “Leave _yooou_ all alone with the riches, and a tank full of petrol? Clea, take her wrist, she’s coming outside with us.”

Before Clea could move her hands, Bela told them to at least _hide_ the money, and they did. Clipped shut into the medical cases, they stashed their loot under the floor’s metal trap door, and locked it shut.

As a trio, Bela, Clea, and Rowena rolled up their sleeves and stalked across the construction site, watching as the assailants’ Jeep tore out of the space and back onto the main road. Nobody else was coming to the bleeding man’s aid; the boombox had been silenced, and nearly everyone had fled. If the cops came, they’d never been here.

Rowena hitched up her long dress and knelt in the dirt, moon-white skin tickled by the floating dust left behind as a half-dozen cars left in a hurry. She placed a hand carefully on the man’s shoulder and ever-so-slowly rolled him onto his side, in case he threw up while unconscious. “Clea, check he’s breathing.”

Clea held her wrist against his face. “Shallow, but fine.”

“Hah! That’s me in a nutshell,” Bela joked, only to have her smile wiped by a glare from Rowena.

“What should we do?” Rowena asked.

“We have a van full of medical supplies,” Bela said.

“Indeed we do, Miss Talbot,” Clea said, raising her eyebrows. “But how much do you know about treating a head injury? Ah! That’s what I thought. Maybe he has a cellphone on him, he must have friends who can help him.”

Together they searched the man’s pockets. They found condoms and lubrication, and they exchanged the same look of understanding. They found a dirty keyring with a guinea pig and two keys on it, and a smooth green piece of ocean glass.

“Here,” Bela said triumphantly, rushing a few feet away. She picked up a Nokia phone. It had obviously been pried from the victim’s pocket, but tossed away, as it had little street value – but although it was missing its back part, and its battery had fallen out, it was undamaged. Bela slid the battery back in place and turned the phone on.

They had to wait a minute before the phone could respond to anything. In the meantime, Clea paced, checking the road off the site, holding a handful of religious symbols and praying in three languages at once. Rowena offered the guy a quick health blessing, sprinkling him with dirt from the ground, then tapped his cheek softly to see if he’d wake up.

To all their surprise, the man stirred, twitching. “Uah.. hgh...”

“You died, welcome to Hell,” Bela said, before Rowena pushed her away.

“You’re still alive, child, don’t you pay any mind to her,” Rowena assured the man. “Can you tell me your name?”

The man slurred terribly, and his eyes wouldn’t move right, but he answered, “Mmnghm C...as... Cas’ll.”

“Castle? Och, a beautiful, sturdy name,” Rowena crooned, stroking his forehead. “We need to get you some help—”

“Get him into the van,” Clea said sharply. “If anyone sees us, we’re in big trouble. Take his arms. Be _careful_ , try not to move his head.”

Together, the three women lifted and carried Castle as gently as they could, supporting his head and neck, soothing him as they went. The donut truck was gone now; they had a straight path to the blood donation van, though the dirt was soft from hose water.

Rowena got the door, and Clea and Bela carried him inside, as soberly as they would move a baby deer. 

They set the man on one of the donation seats, where he lay back on the cushioned incline and shut his eyes, limbs splayed out as he collapsed completely.

“All right,” Clea said, shutting the van’s door. “Castle. You’ve had a few knocks, haven’t you?”

“N... Need help,” Castle croaked.

Bela huffed. “We know that. You’re beat up. You have bruises all over and your lip is bleeding. We can patch you up but you need proper medical attention. We can drive to the hospital―”

“No! No hospital,” Castle rasped, his eyes shut as his head rolled to the side. “Give me... g-give me...”

“Oh dear.” Rowena pried up his eyelids with a tender thumb, relieved when Castle screwed up his face and turned away. He was still responsive. “Castle, what do you need?”

“Call...” Castle’s hand thumped his pocket, but Bela pulled his missing phone out of her own pocket.

“Call who?”

“...St...ar...”

“Check the contacts,” Clea said, while Bela was already on it. She thumbed top-down through the contact list, a fist curled against her lips. Though she kept a calm exterior, adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She reached an entry in the contact list with a star, but it had no name typed in. She kept scrolling, and found another one with a star, and this one read ‘Dean’.

“There are two,” Bela said, leaning over Castle so he could see her. “There’s two contacts with stars on them. Which one do you want?”

Castle babbled something, a frown on his face. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

“Hey! No―! _Frick_.” Bela scowled, straightening up.

“Let me look at that,” Rowena said, snatching the phone from Bela to look. As Bela had said, two contacts in Castle’s phone had a star. One had a name, one didn’t.

Taking a guess, Rowena hit the button to call ‘Dean’.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Dean laughed, playfully shoving Tony away from his desk. “Get lost, asswipe. I have actual paperwork to do.”

“But you’ll think about it?” Tony asked, still perching on the edge of Dean’s space. “It doesn’t need to be a repeat thing, just once, if you want. She said she looks for protective instincts in a guy, and damn, of all the guys in this department, my mind just went straight to you.”

Dean gave his co-worker a pressured smile. “Look... That’s flattering, really it is. And I don’t mean to discourage your sister completely, but... I don’t know, I think I’m actually seeing someone already.”

“You _think_?”

Dean took a small breath. “Well. It’s kind of complicated.” He grinned awkwardly, trying to hold onto whatever man-cards Tony thought he possessed. “It was a one-time thing, but... but there were a lot of, y’know... feelings involved. Or whatever.”

“Wow. Clingy one-night-stand, huh?” Tony grinned understandingly, then leaned down closer, his shoulder holster swinging close to Dean’s chest. “Best way I know to get rid of girls like that? Stand ‘em up. Don’t give them any excuses, just say it’s not working out. Better yet, tell them they’re clingy. They hate it but it’s for the best. Nobody likes a weepy teddy bear.”

Tony leaned back out of Dean’s space with a wink, and Dean felt his insides judder with mixed emotions. “Think about it, bro!”

Dean rested a hand on his forehead as Tony finally left him alone. Sometimes Dean felt like he was the only guy in the whole world who preferred a soppy romance to one-and-done mattress wreckage. Well... he was one of two guys in the world. Cas was the other.

He took a sharp breath as his cellphone rang. He sat up straight, looking out across the department as everyone else went about with their paperwork and their posturing. Dean pried his phone out of his pocket, welcoming any distractions from the stack of evidence he still needed to catalogue. He hoped it was Sam calling about the house.

The screen showed **[ Unknown Number ]**.

Dean flipped the phone open, hit the answer button and held it to his ear. In order not to arouse his co-workers’ suspicions regarding non-work-related calls during the day, he said, “Police Department, Lieutenant Dean Winchester speaking.”

“ _Uh. Shoot. Hi― Hello._ ” Was that an English accent? “ _I’m calling― Castle wanted us to call you. He’s hurt and he needs help, he won’t let us take him to a hospital._ ”

“Castle— You mean _Castiel_?!” Dean stood up quickly, sending his wheely chair on a fast tangent towards the filing cabinets. “Where?” He reached for his black leather jacket, swinging it on as he pressed the phone between his cheek and shoulder.

“ _Blood Drive truck, underneath the overpass, past the traffic circle. He’s out cold... We’ll give him painkillers once he wakes up— Clea, the one on the left! How do you not know what a Tylenol packet looks like? Get off me, Rowena— Look, pal, we have no idea what else to do without taking him to a hospital. He’s in a bad way._ ”

“Do you have a car?”

“ _No, just the truck._ ”

“Then stay right where you are, I’m coming to get him. I’ll be there in five minutes!”

“ _Wait!_ ” The woman on the other end of the phone sounded panicked. “ _You’re a cop?_ ”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shutting his eyes and running his hand down his face. “But I swear, I’m an okay guy. Give me five minutes and I’ll help you.” He hung up, then rushed out from behind his desk.

He got halfway to the end of the office before he heard a sharp bark of “Lieutenant!”

Dean turned and saw Captain Mills looking at him in concern. “Where are you off to?” she asked.

“F- Family emergency,” Dean said, unsure what else to call it. “Requesting permission to leave my station, sir.”

“What happened?”

Dean flustered and looked down at the phone in his hand. “My— My boyfriend. Been hurt.”

“Boyfriend?”

Dean looked up defiantly at the captain. “Yes, sir.” The surrounding officers had stopped what they were doing to listen.

Captain Mills had a steely glint in her eye. “Well then. Can’t let us keep you.”

“Yes― No, sir.”

Jody smirked. “Go on.”

Dean smiled, then turned and fled. Behind him, Tony cleared his throat and ended the phone call he was about to make to his sister.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“He’s a fucking _cop_ ,” Bela hissed, waggling the Nokia in Rowena’s face. “We’re gonna get caught, all because the pair of you can’t go two _minutes_ without caring about someone else.”

Rowena scoffed. “Oh, you tell me you wouldn’t _regret_ driving off,” she said, with true Scottish fury boiling under his voice. “I did _not_ recruit you thinking you’d be such a _heartless_ beastie!”

“Miss Talbot was always a callous viper, my darkling,” Clea assured Rowena, taking her hand and stroking it. “She wouldn’t know love from hatred, so long as there’s passion in her heart.”

Bela fumed. “Of course I know love! Ohh, why don’t you go back to your _dripping_ cavern in the bayou and feed your vampire bats, you horrible, _horrible_ excuse for a— F-for a...” She sniffed, sweeping tears from her cheeks.

She gulped, and sat down heavily on the end of a donation seat. “God, I tried so hard! We all tried, and we succeeded. For fuck’s sakes, we have a truck full of money, we could go anywhere we want, have anything our hearts desire, and you’ll willing to throw it _all_ away.”

“We never said that,” Rowena said hastily. Her eyes darted to Castle, still unconscious. “None of us would’ve imagined such a raggedy-looking thing would’ve had a cop on speed-dial. Look, none of us _want_ to get caught, do we, but we cannae leave him. It’ll look even more suspicious if we’re _gone_ by the time his cop friend gets here.”

“We can act normal,” Clea said cheerfully, unclipping her earrings, pulling up her bejewelled top to cover her cleavage. She shook her bare shoulders like the pylons that they were, and she stood straight. “Dr. Clea Coven, at your service.” Her Louisiana accent had become a comfortable New York twang. “Donating blood is for _sure_ the easiest act of heroism.”

Bela huffed, feeling a smile grace her lips.

Rowena tied up her flowing red hair into a work-appropriate bun, then turned for the medical cupboards. She pulled out three white lab coats, tossing one to Clea, one to Bela. “Nurse MacLeod. I’m only here because they paid me a week in advance. Sure, I’ll play nice, but don’t think I’ll apologise for a wee bruise.”

Bela took off the nametag that was pinned to the coat, and as she donned the coat, she donned a new character. “Dr. Talon, over from England. I eat only hors d'oeuvres, and frankly, I don’t have the time for your bullshit.”

Clea touched her arm and smiled proudly. “Ah. We love you too, little viper.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

The drive was so short Dean barely had time to worry or panic about what had happened. The woman’s words played around and around in his head. _He’s out cold... Won’t let us take him to a hospital... Hurt and needs help..._

_...Castiel wanted us to call you..._

Dean pulled off the overpass and swung round in the dust, the vehicle’s engine roaring ferociously as he pulled his car to a halt.

He didn’t give the dust a chance to settle before he was out of the car and running, hurtling straight for the truck. It was a giant semi-stationary thing, with metal legs stuck down into the dirt to keep it from rolling anywhere. Dean pounded a fist on the side of it, still running to its door.

The door opened, and a made-up white woman looked out, mousey hair falling about her shoulders, slender frame wrapped up in a low-cut t-shirt and a lab coat. “Are you Dean?”

“Yeah— Cas, is Cas here?”

The woman nodded, “He’s inside. He’s awake.”

Dean ran up the short set of metal stairs and into the truck. It was decked out lengthways with chairs for people to lie back and donate blood – a bit like the ones in dentist’s surgeries. Dusky pink sunlight trickled through the windows and lit the side of Castiel’s face, although most of the curtains were drawn shut. Dean went to him, bursting with feelings of protectiveness. Tony had him pegged in that respect, regardless of the fact he was wrong about everything else.

Castiel looked up from the juice box he was drinking and saw Dean’s face. He promptly dropped the juice box on his lap. Fearful eyes turned to the two other women who were present, and his broken voice cried out, “No! Not him, why is he here?!”

A black doctor with thin eyebrows and red lipstick pressed an ice pack to Castiel’s head. She looked at Castiel in concern. “You said the name with the star.”

“There’s only one with a star, and it’s not his!”

Dean reached for Castiel, but the third red-headed doctor slapped his hand back, turning wildcat eyes on him.

Dean took a breath, shaking his head. “That might be my fault,” he said, feeling a pinchy coldness in his gut. “I, umm. I put my number into your phone with a star, Cas. You must not’ve noticed.”

“We called the wrong number,” the brown-haired English doctor said, a hand to her head. “Jesus. Castiel, we’re so sorry. We can get rid of him if you want. Do you want us to call someone else?”

Castiel continued shooting Dean a laser-beam glare, but Dean couldn’t tell what it meant. Cas seemed hurt and upset, but on the other hand he seemed fully hopeful. Eventually he bowed his head, eyes tentatively flicking towards the doctors. “It’s fine. He can stay. He’s a... friend.”

Dean licked his lips and perched on the edge of the next chair along. His legs were weak. “Cas,” he said, softly, “You’re hurt.” His eyes followed the line of injuries, seeing obvious hand-marks on one wrist, where he’d been held down; the other wrist was bound in a bandage, an ice pack tied on. There was a split in his lip, a bruise on his chin and another on his jaw.

“Some bearded madman with a knife took a few swings at him,” the English doctor said, touching Castiel’s knee reassuringly. “Poor thing.” Dean’s searching eyes couldn’t find a name tag on her coat.

“He took a wee bump on the head,” the red-headed doctor added. “Well, I say ‘wee’— Not nearly as bad as it could’ve been, but it was still a pretty hefty bump.”

“Concussion?” Dean asked.

All three doctors nodded.

Dean breathed out. “Cas, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Castiel shoved the women off him, turning his face away from Dean and blinking rapidly. Dean could see he was hiding his tears. “No hospitals.”

“If this is about insurance – hell, I’ll pay for you,” Dean promised, shifting forward in his seat. “You need to let me help you.”

“So give me medicine,” Castiel snapped, turning a snarl on Dean. He looked angry, the whites of his eyes barely visible as his glare had given his face a deadly slant. “Give me painkillers and antibiotics and send me home.”

“We can do that,” the English doctor said, glancing at the others. “The company won’t notice, will they. If we handed out a little medicine.” She spoke with a significant tone of suggestion in her voice.

“It’s not gonna solve the problem,” Dean said, putting a hand on the red-haired doctor’s arm and stopping her from popping pills out of a half-empty blister pack. “Cas, why won’t you go to the hospital? What’s wrong with it?”

Castiel looked terrified now, eyes darting about, then finally landing on Dean. “They― They’ll have me arrested. They’ll ask how and _where_ I got these injuries, and when I tell them, they’ll say it’s my fault for doing what I was doing, and they’ll put me in jail with the others.”

“No,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. “No, Cas, I won’t let them. You hear me?” Dean went up to Castiel’s recliner and took his hand, gratified when Castiel didn’t pull away. Dean took a shuddering breath, deciding it was the right time for Cas to know about his job. He slowly pulled his cop badge out of his pocket, and set it gently on Castiel’s lap. “Open it.”

Castiel didn’t.

Dean reached over and opened it for him. “I’m a cop. Not a Marine. See? I won’t let them arrest you. You’re under my protection now. I’ll keep you safe.”

Castiel hung his head, and Dean smoothed his thumb over his hand, then let go to take his badge back.

Castiel’s bloody lips separated, and he rasped, “I just want to go home, Dean. Please. I have a terrible headache and everything feels like static. And I’m so... so... _dizzy_. I just want peace and quiet and some sleep.”

Dean reached to stroke Castiel’s forehead. “All right. But I’m staying _with_ you, Cas. If you have concussion, you can’t sleep tonight. I gotta keep an eye on you.”

Castiel swallowed, then nodded. He flinched in pain.

“Can you walk?”

Castiel whispered, “No.”

Dean put his badge in his pocket. “I’ll carry you. If you want to keep that juice box, you’d better give it to one of the nice ladies.”

The English doctor took the juice, petting Castiel’s hand as she did. “We can give you a med kit in case you need it. And take the ice pack.”

Dean nodded to her, then slid his right arm under Castiel’s knees, his left arm behind his back. “Put your arm over my shoulders.” When Castiel did, Dean lifted him with a “Hup!” He grunted and strained under the weight as he carried Castiel towards the door he’d come in, but he got the hang of it while on the stairs. He struggled once he got down; the ground seemed ready to shift under his boots.

“Could one of you get the door?” Dean called, and whispered his thanks as the black doctor opened the back door to his Impala, tucking the juice box and the med kit against the seat before moving away. Dean set Castiel down on the leather. Dean took off his jacket and used to to brace Castiel’s neck so he couldn’t slide around once lying down. Dean then lifted Castiel’s hand and kissed it, rubbing it with his thumb. “You’re gonna be okay, Cas,” he said.

He backed out and went towards the truck, where the three women waited, watching.

“Thank you,” he said to them, touching his heart, offering the gesture towards them. “God knows what would’ve happened to him if you three weren’t here.”

The women were quiet. They exchanged a look, then one by one, turned to Dean and smiled at him.

“Godspeed,” said the black doctor.

“Hope he comes out all right, wee thing,” said the red-headed doctor.

The brown-haired English doctor smiled more shyly, and tentatively. “I hope you’re very happy together,” she said. That surprised Dean, until he considered how lovestruck he acted around Cas, and supposed it made sense that people interpreted their bond as intimate. In a sense, it was. He smiled, nodding back at her.

She added, hastily, “Look after him! Please. Whatever wrong he’s done... he didn’t deserve what he got.” She swallowed, eyes flashing towards her co-workers, who seemed stunned at her words. Looking back at Dean, she nodded. “He deserves love. Good things. F... Family.”

She then lowered her eyes, silent. The other two drifted to her, each resting a hand on her back.

Dean felt his heart aching, hoping he could do these doctors proud. Even within such a short amount of time, they seemed to have taken a liking to Cas – and rightly so. He _did_ deserve love. And he _did_ deserve good things, and a family.

“Thank you,” Dean said again.

Taking a breath to steel himself, he turned to leave.

He rushed to sit in the driver’s seat of his car – and as soon as he shut the door, Dean pressed the gas pedal and drove, turning around as smoothly as he could. They rejoined the road above and followed the overpass until they got to the roundabout.

“Alright. Where to, Cas? Where’d you live?”

“Head t-towards the Gas-N-Sip past the old church, near the library.”

Dean swung the car around the circle twice before he found the right turning.

“Ten minutes, Cas,” Dean called into the back seat. “I’ll try to go easy. Hold on.”

Even with his siren on to clear the worst of the traffic, it seemed like ten minutes too long. Castiel didn’t seem to be dying, but he was clearly in more pain than he was letting on. Dean adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see Castiel. A sheen of sweat covered his lightly-tanned face.

“Talk to me, Cas. How’re you doin’ right now?”

“Feel sick.”

“You gonna throw up?”

“I... I don’t think so... Already did...”

“Okay, good, ‘cause I just cleaned this baby. She’ll look after you, just hang in there.”

Dean’s mind was rife with more meaningful questions, but he couldn’t ask Cas any of them, knowing it wasn’t the right time, that Castiel was in no state to be interrogated on affairs less urgent than his knocked head. Dean’s best guess was that he’d been assaulted. That was pretty obvious. But he dreaded to think in what _way_ he’d been assaulted.

What made it worse was knowing that even though Dean couldn’t bear to think about it, Castiel would be forced to think about it. The memory of it happening was stuck in his head forever. And sooner or later, he would need to be asked about it, made to recall it. Dean felt queasy.

He tried not to think about that fact Castiel hadn’t wanted _him_ there. Calling Dean had been the doctors’ mistake. But if Dean could do anything to make this better, it was to make sure his presence was _not_ a mistake. He was going to make his presence worth something to Castiel. He was going to help him in any way he could.

They approached the Gas-N-Sip, and Dean circled the parking lot, asking over his shoulder, “The store’s coming up. Where to now?”

“Inside,” Castiel uttered.

Dean parked directly in front of the Gas-N-Sip, then cut the engine. There didn’t seem to be any apartment buildings nearby. “Are we getting out here?”

Instead of replying, Castiel groaned, struggling to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch it,” Dean warned, rushing to the backseat and opening the door to help Cas up, letting him use him as a climbing frame to get to his feet.

Dean helped Cas to stay upright, slinging Castiel’s arm over his shoulders, while Dean’s arm banded around Castiel’s back. But Dean was surprised to find himself guided towards the actual Gas-N-Sip.

“You live upstairs?”

“Supply closet,” Castiel answered.

Dean stopped dead. “Wait. You _live_ —”

“In the supply closet,” Castiel said again. “My boss doesn’t know. I work here during the day.”

Dean took a breath, then let it out, dismayed and baffled. “Dude. Dude, hang on, stop walking, we need to talk about this.”

“You’re not here to talk, you’re here to help me, so help me,” Castiel said testily.

“Oh, no, buster, you don’t get to lie curled up in a freaking _cupboard_ while you have a concussion. We’ll get you some supplies, then you’re coming home with me. No ifs, no buts. End of story.”

Castiel sighed, but didn’t resist.

“You need anything from your... cupboard?”

“There’s nothing in there,” Castiel said. “Just some folded blankets and clothes I haven’t washed yet. Everything else I own is... in a locker... train station...”

“Me and Sam have clothes you can borrow. And blankets,” Dean said. “Some real nice ones too. C’mon. About turn.”

Dean put Castiel back in the car. He was too dazed to argue, so Dean asked him what his favourite foods were, then left him in the car and went inside alone, promising to be quick.

He filled a basket with the things Cas liked – cookie dough ice-cream, instant coffee (thankfully paired with real cream), strawberry Oreos, sparkling water (“With what? By _itself_?! God, you really did hit your head.”), plus peanut butter and jelly, to eat with the cheapest, fluffiest, most nutritionally-lacking white bread on sale.

Dean also got him a blue plushie dog from the gift aisle, because it was cute as shit, it kinda reminded him of Cas. Cas always looked like he needed something cute to cuddle.

Hearing Sam’s voice muttering in his head, Dean sighed and picked up a bag of tangerines, some avocados, and some traffic-light bell peppers, in case Cas wanted something healthy.

When he was done, Dean looked around, and smiled at an employee who caught his eye. She came around the counter to serve him. “Evening,” Dean said, as she greeted him the same way.

Nora, her nametag read.

“Hey, I think I know a guy that works here,” Dean remarked to her, counting out cash to pay for what he’d picked up.

“Yeah?” Nora said, smiling.

Dean nodded. “Uhh, what was his name... Something weird, Carlton... Christmas...”

“Castiel?”

Dean clicked and pointed at Nora. “That’s the one. Real sweet guy. Seems like he could use a friend, don’t he?”

“Is that the impression you get?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned and nodded, head down. “Look – um,” he glanced up. “If you see him around, treat him real nice, won’t you? He deserves something solid in his life. He’s a good guy.”

“Oh― Oh, I know he is,” Nora said softly, tucking her swishy blonde hair behind her ear. “He’s special.”

Dean smirked. “You see it too, huh.”

Nora nodded.

Dean picked up his bag of things and smiled at Nora again. “Thanks. See you ‘round, I guess.”

“See you.”

Dean sat in the car with Cas for a few minutes, making sure he cleaned his blood-dirty hands with a baby wipe before he peeled and ate a tangerine. Satisfied that Cas wasn’t going to pass out from hunger, Dean nodded and leaned forward in his seat.

“All right,” he said gently, reaching for the car keys in the ignition. “Let’s get you home, Cas.”


	6. Care

“Come on, five more,” Dean said, heaving Castiel up another stair. “Four more. Hup! There we go. Doing good.”

Dean’s apartment building was dingy and smelled like mould, but the neighbourhood wasn’t too rough, and it was within fifteen minutes’ drive of Cas’ Gas-N-Sip convenience store, which was where Castiel spent all his daylight hours. Stocking shelves, cleaning bathrooms. As he’d confessed on the drive over, sometimes he even got to prepare the food – and he was very proud to have that responsibility. 

Now, they reached the top landing, and Dean directed them further along the hallway. There were light fixtures every few feet along the wall, and Dean gave encouragements each time they passed one. “Almost there. Come on, you’re doing awesome.”

“Mmn. Dizzy,” Castiel slurred, as they stood outside Dean and Sam’s apartment door. It had a black number seven on it.

“Is it getting worse?” Dean asked.

“Mhmm.” Castiel frowned, eyes closed. He sank towards Dean, face against his chest, weak hands trying to hold his shirt.

“I got you, Cas. Sam should be home. Hang on to the wall, I gotta knock,” Dean said, quickly rapping on his own front door, then taking Castiel’s weight from around his back, bending to sweep the other arm under his legs. Castiel grunted, burying his face against Dean’s neck. Dean smiled. “Lights too bright, huh?”

“Tired.”

“Yeah. Boy, what a day.”

“Oh, you know,” Castiel mumbled, lightly, “could’ve been worse.”

Dean grimaced and tipped his head forward. “Yeah, it could’ve. Believe me, I’m thanking God and the Devil alike that it _wasn’t_ worse. I could’ve lost you.” It felt wrong to say; what had happened to Cas was already awful. But Dean wanted him to know he was glad Cas wasn’t dead, that was all. There wasn’t an easy way to say it.

Dean heard footsteps approaching: the front door opened, and there was Sam, shaving foam on half his face, razor in hand. His eyebrows rose, seeing Dean enter the apartment carrying a stranger.

“Uhhh,” Sam said, closing the door, following Dean into the living room. “Who’s this?”

“Sammy, meet my friend Cas. Cas, say hi.”

“H’llo,” Castiel uttered.

“Um. Hi,” Sam said. “Good to meet you?”

“Sammy, pull the thing outta the couch, would you? Got ourselves a friendly neighbourhood concussion patient here. Needs a lil’ T.L.C.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course,” Sam said, putting down his razor on a glossy darkwood side table, rushing to stack all his books on the floor instead of the couch. He tossed the couch cushions, then yanked the concealed contraption out, unfolding it on smooth runners until it became an already-sheeted bed. The thin mattress was still zig-zagged from its months in storage.

“Heeere we go,” Dean said, cautiously lowering Cas to the bed, head on the fluffed-up pillow Sam placed down just in time. “Now you’re gonna stay here for a few days, Cas. No books, no TV, no worrying about money. No brainwork of any kind. Gotta give your noggin a rest. Capiche?”

Castiel sighed. “Can you close the curtain please.”

Dean glanced at Sam, who hurried to obey.

“We got Cas some snacks and stuff, it’s in the car,” Dean said to Sam. “You mind going to get that? Keys are in the ignition. I gotta ask Cas some important questions. You, uh... feel up to telling me what happened, Cas?”

Castiel grunted.

“Aw, c’mon,” Dean smiled, sitting on the side of the mattress, scooting up close. “You know I have to, right? Gotta keep you alert, make sure you don’t pass out. You don’t seem too bad right now, but head injuries, man... not good. Next twenty-four hours are gonna be hard for us both. So let’s chat. Keep our spirits up.”

Castiel swallowed. “Was... uhhhm. I don’t really know...”

“You can’t remember?”

“Two women... Can’t... something...”

“Heyheyhey, stay awake,” Dean said quickly, clicking his fingers in Castiel’s face. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Wuh.”

“Favourite colour,” Dean repeated. “I like dusty pink. Maybe, uh... navy blue. Or summer sky blue. Somewhere in between.”

Castiel lapped at his scabbing lips. “Gold. And bottle green.” After a moment, his hand moved to his front pocket. “I have...?”

“You want me to check your pocket?” Dean waited until Castiel made an affirmative noise before he moved in, fingers sliding between Castiel’s hip and his hand. He pulled out a rusty old keyring with a weird animal made of rubber, two keys attached, a few condoms... his battered Nokia phone from another pocket – and a little piece of green glass, mattified and smoothed over time by sand and sea salt.

“Sea glass,” Dean smiled. “That’s real pretty, where’d you get that?”

“F... Found it in the gutter,” Castiel mumbled.

Dean snorted, placing it hesitantly on the side table, below the reading lamp. “Hope you washed it.” He wiped his fingers on his jeans.

Castiel smirked. “I wash everything. Multiple times a day.”

“Yeah. Guess you would.” Dean swallowed, hating to be reminded how hard Castiel’s job had to be.

He turned his head, hearing and then seeing Sam enter the apartment again, face wiped clean of shaving cream, but still sporting half a beard. Sam carried the groceries to the kitchen, glanced at them briefly, then looked up at Dean. “Alright, I’m going out.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Where’re you going?”

“Dean, your friend needs to eat more than cookies and sugar sprinkles,” Sam chided. “His body’s fighting to protect his most complex organ, he needs unprocessed nutrient-rich food. I’ll get some ice and extra bandages while I’m at it. You need anything?”

Dean ran his hand over his mouth, then shook his head. “Just beer— For me, not Cas. Obviously. Be careful with my car.”

Sam snorted. “Have I ever crashed her before?”

“Always a first time for everything,” Dean uttered. His eyes went from Sam to Cas before he finished his sentence. He peered fondly at Castiel, whose fingers wandered through Dean’s belt loops, fiddling with the denim. Castiel’s eyes lifted, and he gazed back at Dean in silence.

There really was a first time for everything.

But occasionally there was a second time for certain things. And only now, as he and Cas shared this peculiar moment, did Dean think to himself that maybe he’d been given a second chance.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel existed in a blurry haze. His headache had all but faded; a slow hum lurked in the back of his skull, constantly pulling his tongue apart from his words. He stammered, and had to screw his eyes up tight before he could remember how he’d begun his sentences.

Sometimes he didn’t remember.

“It’s okay,” Dean would say, fluffing up Castiel’s pillow. “You remember where you are?”

Castiel frowned. “Of course. I’m not delirious, Dean, everything is just... slow.”

His eyes rose, hearing the first pitter-patter of rain on the roof. “Why do you live in a greenhouse?” Castiel asked, watching water stream down the gutters of the plastic ceiling.

Dean chuckled. “It’s just this lounge,” he explained. “The bedrooms have real ceilings. It’s kinda cool, huh. I mean, can’t see shit through it, with all the moss and frosted plastic whatever, so it’s not like we got ourselves a penthouse view. But,” Dean pursed his lips and shrugged, “for a crappy apartment it’s like... _secretly_ nice. Raw brick walls are rough and horrible until you decide to appreciate ‘em, frame a few movie posters. You eventually see the good in it.”

Castiel’s eyes followed the line of the bright roof, hazed-out grey daylight cut apart by metal chains, from which hung a few potted plants.

“Sam’s the gardener,” Dean said, noticing where Castiel’s eyes went. “If I’m gonna dote on somethin’ I prefer when it talks back.”

“Hm,” Castiel said. “Sorry I’m not more talkative, then.” Looking down, he added, “Just another gloomy raincloud taking up space in your life.”

Dean laughed in a breath, one side of his lips quirking up to reveal his teeth. Bright eyes turned to settle on Castiel, showing his devotion without a word. But then... “ _You are my sun-shiine, my o-nly sun-shine..._ ” Dean’s voice cracked, singing weak notes of a song Castiel had never heard in person. “ _You make me ha-ppy – when skies are graaay._ ”

The lock on the front door clacked open, and Sam entered the apartment carrying bags of groceries. Dean looked over at him, and sang, “ _You’ll ne-ver know, dude, how much I love you..._ ”

Back to Castiel, placing a curled finger under his chin. “ _So please don’t take, my sun-shine awaayy._ ”

Sam put down the groceries on the protruding kitchen island, a huff of a laugh escaping him.

Castiel just gazed up at Dean in childish wonder. Even with a gritty voice, Dean made the song sound lush and loving. Maybe the Advil overdose was starting to affect him, but Castiel felt a tickle of elation in his belly and chest. He liked being sung to.

Dean chuckled shyly, licking his lower lip, then biting it. “Uh. Sorry. It just popped into my head.”

“Don’t apologise,” Castiel rasped.

Dean stared at him. Castiel couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Although his singing voice was even frailer than Dean’s, Castiel whispered, “ _I’ll always love you, and make you ha-ppy..._ ”

At once, Dean’s face split into a grin, and he sang along, their deep voices harmonising, “ _If only you will say the same..._ ”

Castiel paused, not wanting to sing the next line. He let Dean sing alone, “ _But if you leave me..._ ” Dean inhaled, lowering his eyes, frowning now, “ _and love a-no-ther..._ ”

Castiel shut his eyes, pained by what had been a beautiful moment only seconds ago.

He felt Dean take his hand, softly squeezing.

Castiel gulped, peeking through his lashes just enough that he could gaze at Dean’s freckles, too afraid to look him in the eyes. Castiel finished, firmly, “ _I would reg-ret it – all some day._ ” He had no intention of moving onto the next verses.

Dean’s hand separated from Castiel’s, hiding his fingers under a fold in a blanket. At first Castiel worried – but then he realised Sam was nearby. Dean didn’t want his brother to see.

Dean lapped at his lips, eyes rising to see Sam. “‘Sup, Sasquatch?”

“Uh. I bought some stuff to make dinner. Cas— Your name’s Cas, right? You eat meat?”

Castiel couldn’t nod; he feared another headache was looming. “Mm-hm.”

“Roast chicken, potatoes? Parsnips? Green beans. With gravy.”

Castiel looked at Sam in confusion.

Sam was an extremely tall, bulky-shouldered fellow with a flared bob of brown hair and a lopsided smile. Despite taking up an oppressive amount of space in the small apartment, he seemed comfortable with his movements, wrapping just-washed hands around a dishtowel. Castiel’s overall impression of friendliness was confirmed, wholeheartedly, as Sam explained, chuckling, “It’s what’s on the menu. I was gonna make you some dinner.”

“Oh,” Castiel said.

He considered for second what that _meant_. Still bewildered, he said to Sam, “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”

Sam’s eyes darted to Dean, alarmed. But he softened, and smiled at Castiel again. “I’ll make it extra special, then.”

“Oh... no, please,” Castiel begged, “Please don’t. You donnnneedta giv’me anything. I’m fine. I’m okay. I don’t need to eat.”

Sam huffed. “Um. Okay. Opinion noted. But just so you know, I’m making you dinner anyway. _Including_ dessert.”

Castiel managed an uncomfortable, yet grateful smile. He smiled even when Sam turned away and headed into the kitchen.

“Nobody?” Dean asked, almost whispering. “How could nobody make you food, Cas? Didn’t your parents...?”

Castiel’s eyes settled on Dean’s. “Not that I remember. I ate a lot of pre-packaged TV dinners as a child. I w-wwas home alone all evening after school. Parents took... long trips, private concorde. F-Father was a pilot. They died flying over Roswell, New Mexico.”

Dean tensed one side of his mouth; he failed to smile, though Castiel recognised his intention.

Again, Dean’s hand reached for Castiel’s. Their fingers spread between each other, stretching, locking tight. Dean swallowed.

Then he lay on his back, snuggling up beside Castiel with a chuckle. “C’mon. Let’s snap a pic.” He wrested his flip phone from his pocket with his free hand, putting it into camera mode, then turning it around so the lens faced them. Castiel wasn’t sure what to do; Dean grinned, his face reflected back in the tiny rectangular screen. Castiel tried to grin too, but he felt the discomfort about his mouth and knew he’d done it wrong.

The phone made a noise like a mechanical camera. Dean snorted, looking at the photo. “You blinked. One more.”

This time Castiel didn’t even attempt to smile. He turned his head and gazed at Dean’s eyelashes, watching their soft dip as Dean blinked halfway.

_Ch-chh!_

“Hm,” Dean said, pursing his lips. “Not bad.”

Castiel glanced at the screen and recoiled internally. “Ugh, no,” he groaned, one hand over his bruised, drooping eyes. “I look terrible.”

“Yeah, that’s the point,” Dean said. “Someday you’re gonna look back at this photo, and think, wow! I got through that shitty day, made it to the next one. And you’ll look at yourself in the mirror and be proud you came so far.” Dean gave Castiel’s hand and quick squish. “You look like utter crap right now, Cas, and that’s _proof_ , okay? Proof you feel bad inside. You don’t gotta hold your shit together any more, just to match the pretty face people see on the outside. Because, hell, I know for a fact – those kinda theatrics? Are _fucking_ exhausting. You’ve been acting ‘fine’ all your life. Fuck that, a’right? You’re allowed to accept help. And let people cook for you. And...”

He looked at their joined hands, stroking Castiel’s with a thumb. “And let people love you. Take care of you. You got one job, Cas, and that’s to _rest_.”

_For now_ , Castiel thought to himself. He’d seen on Dean’s phone screen that it was nearing seven p.m. – ten hours ought to be enough rest. He had indeed been through a lot today... maybe he deserved a break.

“Too bad I’m not allowed to s-s-ssleep for long with a concussion,” Castiel muttered. “I could do with a full night’s rest.”

“Head above water, Cas,” Dean reminded him. “Keep treading water. We’ll get through tonight, easy.”

One more squeeze of their hands, and they moved on to talk about other things.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Dean jerked awake, pawing drool from his chin. He looked around hastily, knowing he’d slept a bit too long – he needed to check Cas, make sure Cas was okay—

Cas wasn’t in the pull-out bed.

Dean stumbled to his feet. “Cas,” he rasped, loud enough to be heard in the night-muffled living room, not loud enough for his voice to sneak under Sam’s bedroom door and wake him. “ _Cas_.”

He rolled up the sagging sleeves of his plaid shirt, hurrying to the kitchen, checking for Cas. Nope, not even collapsed on the floor. Dean poked his head into Sam’s study, but found only the eerie silhouettes of books and papers and whatnot, all piled up on the extra bed.

Heart thumping his his throat, Dean barged into the bathroom, hand on the doorknob—

He yelped, “Whoa!” as Castiel yelped, “Dean!” and they both turned away, blushing. Dean pulled the door closed again.

“Sorry!” Dean called through the door, eyes shut, forehead against the wood. “Jesus, dude, you could’ve told me you wanted to take a shower!”

Castiel’s words were roughened with fatigue as he replied, “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked very tired.”

“Cas, you have a _concussion_ ,” Dean complained, eyes rising to the dark ceiling. “You can’t just get outta bed and drench yourself in water without telling anyone.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel said, sweeping open the door in a rush of steam. He looked alert. His scabs were just darkened patches, not blood-red; his damp hair seemed fresh, and his shoulders were much more relaxed.

Dean gulped. “Y... You look good. Better, I mean. Not all-the-way better, but—”

“I feel better,” Castiel said. “Sam’s cooking helped a lot.”

Dean nodded, eyes down. “Yeah. He’s good like that.”

Castiel tied his towel tighter around his waist, stepping closer into Dean’s personal space. He smelled like Dean’s own shower gel. “You helped too,” Castiel said.

“What, by annoying you into staying awake for twelve hours? Ice pack after ice pack after frozen peas?”

Castiel smirked.

Dean’s tongue lapped at his lips as Castiel moved past, leaving a trail of warmth behind, his radiance setting tingles alight on Dean’s cheek and neck.

“Cas, you gotta _rest_ ,” Dean said, chasing after him. “I’m not kidding. Best case here, you’re laid up for a week.”

“I have a job to go to,” Castiel argued, turning to face Dean in the middle of the living room. “If I’m not at the Gas-N-Sip by seven-thirty a.m. on the dot, I get written up. Nora is a lovely person but she has to adhere to the company rules. If I lose this job, I’m _out_. Homeless. Broke. More than that, I’ll be drowning in debt before I lift my head to breathe.”

“Cas— Cas. Look at me. Listen. If you keep moving around, you could _die_ ,” Dean said, taking Castiel firmly by the shoulders. “Brain damage. Dead. No job is worth that, least of all a shelf-stacking job.”

Castiel sneered. “In case it happened to slip your mind what I do after dark, let me _remind_ you, Dean: for me, a bad day stacking shelves is _infinitely_ better than a good day at my other job. This is my life. These are _my_ decisions to make.”

Dean swallowed and let Cas go, hands trailing down his bare arms. “Still ain’t worth your life. Maybe everything’s meant to fall apart, you know? Maybe this is where everything changes for you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Castiel said dangerously. “What do you envision me doing next, hm? What do you think I could put on my résumé that doesn’t include ‘good ass’ and ‘knows how to completely disinfect a room’?”

Dean shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. But not right now, okay? Please. _Please_ , for the love of sanity, lie down. I’ll get you some sparkling water or something. We’ll talk, get your mind off stuff.”

Castiel began to look livid. “What _stuff_? Losing my last hope? I don’t have the _privilege_ of taking sick days at the Gas-N-Sip. If I don’t show up for my shift— Where do I sleep then? On a bench in the park with the pigeons?”

Dean turned away, scrubbing the nape of his neck with a hand. “I’ll call Nora. Tell her—”

“Tell her what, exactly?”

“That I’ve got you covered,” Dean finished, facing Castiel again. “That you _have_ a place to stay, and it’s right _here_.” Dean saw Castiel’s hesitation, and his shock, and Dean softened his gaze, trying to soothe him. “I want to look after you, Cas. No, I don’t want you to lose your job. But right this second, unless you can get a couple weeks off, _with_ pay, it’s inevitable. The best option right now is to quit on your own terms, and hope Nora gives you a glowing recommendation for your next employer.”

Castiel frowned. Slowly... ever so slowly... his eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But me and Sam won’t let you lose your marker in this stupid game, okay? We have money. We have space for you. We can look after you. Because in case it slipped your mind,” Dean breathed, “I still care about you, Cas. I st...” He ducked his head and gulped, eyes skimming the carpet. “I still love you.”

The words settled into the silence.

Dean exhaled, then lifted his eyes to Castiel’s, pretending he didn’t see the tears brimming in his waterline. “Get back into bed, Cas,” Dean said. “I’ll make you breakfast. You like eggs? Over easy? Buttered toast, salt ‘n pepper?”

Castiel’s eyes shone even more. “Th... That sounds incredible.”

Dean leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Guess who taught Sammy how to cook, huh?” He winked, then backed away. “I’ll get you some of my clothes. Got some cool geeky shit. You a Rhodey fan?”

“Who or what is that?” Castiel asked.

“From the _Iron Man_ comics. Or the movies.”

“Oh. No. I never had comic books growing up. And I don’t really watch movies.”

Dean tried to ignore the clench in his belly. He slunk into his bedroom, muttering to himself. “Too bad he can’t watch TV on bedrest,” he uttered into his closet, pulling out loungewear. “‘Cause booooy, he is missin’ some shit. Puh! Doesn’t watch movies. He’s not gonna get half my references. What the hell kinda pop culture _does_ he know...?”

He returned, gifting Castiel with clean underwear, clothes... and a thoughtful smile.

“Hey, Cas?”

Castiel looked up.

Dean touched his thumb to Castiel’s chin. “You wanna hear somethin’ cool?”

“Um. Okay.”

Dean smirked. “Your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other.”

A wide smile stretched across Castiel’s mouth, and although it cracked some of his scabs, he didn’t seem to mind. “Abraham Lincoln,” he said. “You’re quoting Abraham Lincoln.”

“Damn right I am.” Dean nodded. “Now! One breakfast in bed, coming right up.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. For the first day, he was too disoriented and exhausted to properly comprehend anything beyond a rumbling stomach, a full bladder, the need for sleep – and Dean’s questions. He had so many questions.

“You ever have pets while you were growing up?” was one that left Castiel thinking for quite some time.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

“You were too young, or—?”

“My brain is all foggy,” Castiel said.

Dean craned down, warm breath in Castiel’s face, a soft thumb lifting Castiel’s eyelids to check his pupils, flickering torch dashing in and out in flashes. “Tell me if you start to feel dizzy, or sick, okay?”

Castiel shut his eyes. “I know I always liked to feed birds,” he said. “Maybe I’d... sing to them.”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, we got a regular Disney princess here.”

Castiel smiled. He remembered seeing a few of those movies.

As the first day ended, and the second day began, the questions seemed to dig deeper, prying into older memories; their voices came out softer. Dean lay beside Castiel on the couch bed, barefoot, t-shirt riding up to his navel. He asked about Castiel’s childhood, and was informed there wasn’t much there to speak of.

“I got good grades in school,” Castiel said. “Particularly physics, in my sophomore year. I played basketball as a senior... I saw that movie about the dog who plays basketball—”

“ _Air Bud_. I was about to start my junior year at high school when that came out. Damn, that brings back memories.”

Castiel hummed a laugh. “It inspired me to play. I stopped after my parents died – I graduated high school the same year they passed. I used to fantasise about having a dog friend to get me through all of that.”

“You a dog person?”

“Hm. I like anything with a personality that isn’t human,” Castiel said. “Humans always want things from me, and they don’t always ask nicely – or at all.” His voice cracked under the pressure of emotion, “I think I’m tired of being stolen from. I want so badly to give love to everyone I meet, and give it freely, the way dogs do... but I don’t think I have anything left to give. It’s all gone.”

After so long without consistent sleep, such honesty was easy. Dean, who was almost as tired, simply nodded. “You should get to want things for a change. Want all the things. All the love. And all the cuddles.” He rolled over, wrapping an arm over Castiel’s waist. Castiel hummed a laugh, settling a hand over Dean’s.

♥

Dean’s breath hitched in surprise as Castiel suddenly rolled into him, but he breathed again as Castiel tightened his hold around the back of his neck. His cheek was pressed to Dean’s neck, his torso right up against Dean’s. Dean felt Castiel sigh on him.

Dean put his hands on Castiel’s waist, and slowly dragged his palms until he was holding Castiel’s hips to him. He put his face down, hiding his eyes in Castiel’s borrowed navy blue t-shirt. He smelled like nothing. No, he smelled like Castiel. Dean breathed in hard, wanting to freeze this moment and have this moment be the only moment that ever existed.

Castiel began to nuzzle, and Dean let him nuzzle – but then Castiel tensed because it hurt, so they didn’t nuzzle any more.

Castiel wriggled closer, his bare feet touching and slipping between Dean’s. Dean let Castiel squeeze him.

Dean chuckled against Castiel’s collar bone. “Guess this is us charging up our hug quotas for the century.”

Castiel hummed back, running the tip of his nose under Dean’s jawline. “No, this is only making up for the time we’ve been apart. And I’m not done yet.”

“Did you miss me?” Dean asked, putting renewed hug pressure on Castiel’s middle. “‘Cause I sure as hell missed you.”

“Yes, Dean. I missed you. I missed you a lot.”

Dean smiled, feeling like warm jelly inside. “I, uhhhh... I called you my boyfriend in front of the entire precinct today. Or yesterday. Whenever that was, I’ve forgotten. God, I’m so out of it.”

Castiel breathed a quiet laugh. “What did they think?”

“Heh. Well my captain, Jody? She texted me back a few hours ago. Said she hoped my boyfriend was okay. And she wasn’t joking or making fun, as far as I know... So I think they’re good.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Huh?”

“When Captain Jody texted you and asked if your boyfriend was okay, what did you tell her?”

Dean took a breath, rubbing Castiel’s back with his wide hand. “Told her... um, what happened. And that you can’t remember being attacked. And I said you would take some time to get back on your feet, but that I think you’ll do it better than most people. And that I have faith in you.”

Castiel moved like he wanted to pull out of the hug, but changed his mind at the last moment and pulled Dean in harder. Dean let him, and they cuddled for another minute, in silence.

At long last, Castiel sank back, head settled comfortably on a pillow, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. Dean leaned in and kissed him on the nose, and that was all they needed.

Finally sure that the worst of the danger was over, Dean let Castiel shut his eyes.

Slow blinks...

A deep breath in...

And, as he exhaled, he slept. He sank into Dean’s arms, body and mind at last relaxing completely.

Soon enough, Dean fell asleep too. Sam called in sick from work to take over from Dean, making sure Cas was okay – and making sure Dean ate some real food once he woke up. Dean had made plenty of meals for Cas, but satisfying his own needs had become less of a priority. (And Sam knew it instinctively, and worked to help Dean out. Sam was the best brother.)

Really, it seemed like they’d only spent one long, delirious day together, keeping their heads above water – but when Dean next turned on the TV, three days had passed.


	7. You'll Never Know, Dear

**[ From: Dean | To: Sam ]**  
**[ Yo Sammy, could you tell Cass I made it to work on time? He was worried I’d be late. ]**

**[ From: Sam | To: Dean ]**  
**[ Hello, Dean. Sam gave me his phone, since my Nokia had been relegated to playing games of Snake. :-) Can I call you? ]**

Dean typed a reply, hesitated... deleted it, changed the punctuation... then retyped the same thing again. He was going for ‘casual nonchalant affection’. An exclamation point was too _boisterous_ – and dammit, it wasn’t like Cas would _judge_ him for being a lovesick romantic at heart.

**[ Heyyy, you~ Can’t call right now, I’m pretending to work. How are you doing? ]**

**[ I still have a headache but Sam let me watch Scooby Doo so I’m ok. ;-D How is work? ]**

**[ Texting and murder, Cass, you know how it is. ]**

**[ Why did you type my name with two Ss? My name is CAStiel. >:( Where did the extra S come from? ]**

**[ Uh. Autocorrect. ]**

Dean quickly edited his phone’s autocorrect dictionary. He felt better knowing his phone no longer believed Castiel was the same person as Dean’s first-ever long-term girlfriend, Cassie. God, that was awkward.

**[ I miss you. ]**

Dean smiled at his phone, lighting up inside as he re-read the new message four, five, six times over. He smiled and smiled, and then typed a reply, hitting send without a moment of hesitation.

**[ Me too. ]**

He was still smiling as he put the phone down, hiding the screen from Abbie as she approached. He shook his computer mouse to bring his screen back to life, so he could at least look like he wasn’t distracted.

Abbie perched her ass on the corner of his desk, plucking a pen from his stationery mug to fiddle with. “So,” she said, pursing her blood-red lips, eyeing Dean discerningly. “Three days sick leave, following a hasty departure an hour before his shift ends. And here he is, back again. There’s rumours, Winchester. A lot of them.”

Dean looked down when his phone buzzed: Cas had replied again.

“Your boyfriend?” Abbie pried, hand reaching towards the phone. Dean snatched it back and shoved it into his pocket.

“None of your business,” Dean said brightly.

“It is him, isn’t it,” Abbie grinned, leaning forward with her hands on her desk. “You found yourself a pretty boytoy, huh?”

Her perfume infiltrated Dean’s nose, making him exhale sharply to get the stink out of his head. He fiddled with his keyboard, saying nothing.

“So I got a question,” Abbie said, biting the end of Dean’s pen with her front teeth, giving a lascivious grin. She pulled the pen free, and jabbed it towards Dean, asking, “Do you think this why it never worked out with girls? All those years you spent moping about your girlfriends trashing you, and you going around, failing to land anyone for more than a single night. Or two weeks, on that rare occasion.” She raised her eyebrows when Dean looked at her in confusion. “Maybe it never worked with girls ‘cause you didn’t realise you were gay.”

Dean’s lips parted, a scowl descending between his eyebrows. “Abbie, I’m not... gay.”

Abbie’s expression changed; she lifted her hands in surrender, eyes wide, lips in a mocking ‘o’. “Ohh, so sorry. Didn’t know you were still in denial.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “I’m not—” He glanced angrily towards the white ceiling tiles, then back at his co-worker. “I still like girls. All right?”

Abbie curled a thoughtful hand below her chin. “And yet you never sleep with me to prove it. Almost like it’s all one big cover story.”

Dean covered his forehead with a hand. “For fuck’s sake, Abbie, I don’t need to _prove_ anything to you. And I don’t need to _explain_ it, either. Just— Just fuck off, I have work to do.” He glared at his computer screen, hand seizing the mouse and squeezing it so hard he wondered if it might implode.

“So you are gay, then. And a little bit straight.”

Dean worked his tense lips over his clenching teeth, a forceful thumb jabbing a new column into his spreadsheet.

“Or are you mostly straight, and a little bit gay? That’s so sweet, huh? You went gay for _him_? What’s his name?”

Dean tried to ignore her. Murder, he tried to think about murder.

It wasn’t helping.

“Look, between you and me, Winchester—” Abbie leaned close, lips almost on Dean’s ear. Her closeness was uncomfortable enough, but then came her salacious whisper: “You ever want a girl _writhing naked_ between you two... mmh, I’m up for it.”

Dean shut his eyes. “Thanks for the offer,” he said forcefully, leaning his head away, “But no thanks.”

“Oh-ho, I see how it is,” Abbie purred, setting a stiletto heel on Dean’s thigh. “You’re in gay mode. That’s fine. I mean, it’s not gonna last long between you anyway, given the track record. Once you come back from the dark side... figure yourself out...? I’ll wait.” She hopped off the desk, giving Dean’s cheek a fond stroke. Dean slapped her away without thinking.

“Playing dirty now?” Abbie muttered, pushing her hip against Dean’s shoulder. “Ooh, I like that.”

Dean shot to his feet, furious, fingers twitching towards his gun. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching, one provocative touch away from hurling bullets.

The look in Abbie’s eyes was not one of fear, but exhilaration. “Mm,” she smiled, looking Dean up and down. “Taken men always _are_ the feistiest.”

A door slam diverted Dean’s attention. “Lieutenant!” barked Captain Mills. She stood in the doorway to her office, hands braced on the jamb, perplexion and annoyance aflame in her stance. “What the hell is going on out here?”

Dean glanced around, realising the whole precinct was looking at him. He looked down; his gun was in his hand, fingers halfway through lifting the safety catch. He hastily put the safety back on, standing to attention. “Nothing, sir,” he said boldly. “Just—” he lowered his eyes, then his chin. “Misunderstanding.”

The captain breathed in: an audible indicator of disbelief. Voice hard, she said, “My office, Dean. _Now_.”

Dean holstered his gun and moved forward, edging between Abbie and filing cabinets, trying not to touch her at all. She gave him no leeway, her vulpine smile and hungry eyes following him as he escaped.

Jody held her office door open for Dean, and shut it hard as he entered.

“What the fuck was that, Lieutenant,” Captain Mills demanded, striding past.

Dean fumbled. He’d expected the act to drop once the door shut, but there was no act: Mills was furious.

“You pulled your gun on a fellow officer? Don’t think I didn’t _see_ you; there’s windows in this room for good reason.”

“D...” Dean could barely hold breath in his lungs, let alone use it to speak. “I-If you were watchin’... you see what she did?”

“I hardly call a chewed pen reason for friendly fire,” Mills said, arms crossed, resting back against the ledge of her desk.

“She’s not my friend,” Dean forced out, feeling like a child in the principal’s office all over again. “Sh— She keeps—”

“ _What_ , Lieutenant,” Mills said flatly.

Dean hung his head. “Flirting. It’s nothing, Captain, I can handle it.”

“Damn right,” Mills said. But she hesitated. Then hesitated again, so much so that her uneasiness drew Dean’s attention. She unfolded her arms, looking carefully back at Dean. “Does it bother you?”

Dean touched his fingers to his gun. “Umm. Maybe more than I realised.”

“Makes you uncomfortable,” Jody said.

Dean nodded unsurely. “Look, I’m beat right now. Stayed up for days lookin’ after my boyfriend, guess I ain’t rested enough. I’m jumpy. Irrational. I get it. I’ll be fine soon as I’ve had a rest, Captain. I can handle Donn just fine,” he said firmly. “There’s no problem.”

Jody gazed at him in concern. “If you were a woman I’d sooner take a bullet than make you go back out there, Lieutenant. If she’s harassing you there’s no reason you should have to put up with it.”

Dean shook his head and a hand, fingers spread. “No-no-no, it’s seriously not _any_ thing, it’s— She just has a crush on me, it’s kinda funny.” He managed a careless grin.

Jody looked borderline upset now, eyes rounded, mouth pulled into a line. Maybe to help Dean save face, or maybe just to move on, she glanced down, resetting her expression to ask, “How is your boyfriend doing?”

Dean smiled at the thought. He had a _boyfriend_.

“Better,” he said, reaching for a visitors’ chair, using his hand to guide him down to sit. “He was a goddamn mess the first night, tried to get to work the next day. But, uh. Me and Sam got him through the worst of it. We booked him a health checkup with Sam’s doctor, Sam took him this morning. Apparently he just needed a couple booster shots, then got the all-clear.

“His memories are coming back, slowly. Random stuff triggers them – words, music, things he sees outside. I had him sit for a few hours yesterday, we took a detailed account of the attack, as much as he could remember.” Dean held his own hands between his spread thighs, bowing his head. “I filed the report. Got an APB out on some slimeball named Alistair. Drives a borrowed Jeep without a windshield.”

“Good work,” Jody said.

Dean gave her a brief, tense smile. “My guy fed me exactly the kinds of details I needed to know,” he said, leaning forward, running his hand back through his hair, cracking the gel. “God knows how many reports he’s filled out over the years. And that’s despite being paranoid he’s gonna get arrested.”

“Arrested? For what?”

“For—”

Dean stopped short, staring at Jody. His mouth went dry, hands and lower back chilling with a flop sweat. “Nothin’, doesn’t matter,” he uttered weakly, hunching, wiping his palms together. As intimately as he trusted Jody, he couldn’t tell her about Cas. Both he and Dean could wind up in trouble; they’d both broken the law, that first night together. And although Dean had done his job, he’d found Jimmy Novak, only Dean alone would have the satisfaction of knowing he succeeded.

“He must be _ruled_ by paranoia, this boyfriend of yours.” Jody smirked when Dean met her eyes. “Regardless of who someone is, how they’re dressed, where they are, or what it _looks_ like they’re doing, I won’t stand for someone being arrested for ‘nothing’. Not without just cause. How easily do you think I’ll let _that_ remark go, d’you think?” Jody asked, half-amused.

Dean licked his lips. He tried a cheeky, sideways grin, rolling a shoulder. “Easy as apple pie?”

Jody exhaled, dropping her chin to her chest. “It’s _painfully_ obvious you’re hiding something. God. I’m too soft on you and I know it.”

“‘S ‘cause you know I’m a teddy bear deep down,” Dean teased, hoping his offer of brutal vulnerability would save him. “Heart of gold. Only want the best for everyone.”

He wasn’t expecting Jody to nod. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

Dean rubbed his cheek, feeling its heat. Quietly, to himself, he whispered, “Jesus _Christ_ , I’m tired.”

Jody heard. “Stick it out, snugglebug. Six hours ‘til the end of the day. Tell you what...” She met Dean’s eyes. “I’ll have a chat with Donn. If she doesn’t keep her distance, I’m taking her out.”

Dean was appalled for a moment, then realised, “Ohhh, wait, you mean—”

“Out of this _department_ , you utter dodo,” Jody said, chuckling in exasperation. “I can keep the corporal punishment in my pants, unlike some officers.” She gave Dean a warning look.

Dean licked his lips, nodding. He got to his feet, chin up. “Yessir. Won’t happen again, sir. I’mma get a good night’s rest tonight, Captain.”

“You’d better.” Jody smiled. “Tell that mystery boyfriend of yours hello from me. And whatever he did that makes him so paranoid he’ll be arrested – make sure he knows he’d better keep his _toes_ in line. I’m not above marching over there to search the place.” She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then Dean’s. “I know where you live, Lieutenant.”

Dean smirked, unable to keep it down. “Yes, sir.”

“Get back to work, Dean. And I mean _work_ , not your phone.”

Dean quickly pulled out his phone, checking the unread message.

**[ See you when you get home, Dean. xxx <3 ]**

He smiled, then looked up at Jody. “Yes, sir.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Sam shifted the last of the stuffed cardboard boxes onto his desk, then stood straight with his hands pressing his lower back. “Hmh,” he grunted, as his shoulders clicked. He traipsed back to the living room, smiling as he saw Castiel perched at the end of the pull-out couch, blanket swaddled around his waist as he stared out of the window.

“Anything interesting out there?” Sam asked.

Castiel tried to look back, but his neck was too stiff. “School’s out, I think. Must be that time of day. And I saw a dog. A tiny little Pug.”

Sam smiled. “I cleared up the spare bed for you. Everyone’s always coming and going through this living room – you’d have a bit more privacy in the study. The view from the windows on that side of the apartment has more trees, and apartment buildings with balconies. You could birdwatch if you wanted.”

“Why do you have a bed in your study?”

Sam sat down on the couch mattress beside Castiel. “Well, we’ve had people in and out of this apartment for years. We tend to house friends, or strangers. Get them back on their feet. It helps to offer a safe place to sleep.”

Castiel bowed his head. Sam saw the scratches on his lip, still ever-so-slightly swollen, but clearly healing. The bruises on his jaw had turned an unhappy puce colour, but they were mostly covered by his four-day stubble.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Much better,” Castiel nodded. “Uh— Unsteady. Anxious. But... I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” Sam watched him carefully. Curiosity rose inside him, and he finally asked what he’d been wanting to ask for days. “You seem to get along with Dean well. It’s nice to see, actually. I’m just wondering, how— How did you meet him?”

Castiel managed a quiet smile. “He’s been very kind to me.” He drew in a deep, slow breath, then let it go. “We met a while ago. He’ll tell you how, if he wants. It’s not exactly my story to tell.”

Sam considered that, but wasn’t sure how it could be true. Surely the story belonged equally to Castiel.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Sam gulped. “Do you think you’d be up to having a full conversation?” he asked. “Dean won’t be home from work for a few hours, we have time to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Just you and me, we can discuss whatever’s on your mind,” Sam said.

“Like – what happened to me?” Castiel’s voice was low and dense. Rather surreally, it put Sam in mind of a threadbare rug: once plush and colourful, now trampled, faded, and worn to nothing.

“Yeah, we can talk about that, if you like. Anything else, too.” Sam offered a smile and his most sympathetic expression. “I’m a grief counsellor by profession. My job is to make people feel better about the worst parts of life.”

Castiel blinked a few times, then lifted his eyes to look back at Sam. “Do I have to pay you?”

“What? Oh, no, no. Not a cent. Completely free, completely confidential. I’m not sharing what you say with Dean, or anyone. It’s all off the record. Think of me as a – friend, rather than a professional.”

Castiel swallowed, encouraged by Sam’s words. He soon nodded. There was a certain intensity glistening in his eyes. “I very much need a friend right now.”

Sam felt a frown dance across his face. “Do you not consider Dean a friend too?”

Castiel shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure where I stand with him. I don’t know why I’m here, Sam. I don’t know why you both took me in, or why you’re caring for me. That’s not to say I’m ungrateful – I really am thankful. I just don’t understand.”

Sam struggled to form a good answer. “This is what we do,” he said simply. “We help people. We’ve always done it.”

“But why _me_?”

Oh, the torment in those summer sky blue eyes. Sam felt his heart squeeze.

“Who knows,” Sam said quietly. “But we’ll care for you as long as you need.”

Castiel gulped, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. “There’s a... an unfathomable weight inside me. Guilt. I don’t _deserve_ this.” He shook his head, lost in thought.

The room fell quiet. Total silence was kept at bay by the tick of a clock, and the playful chirps of children as they ran past outside.

Sam was waiting for Castiel to speak again.

He did, once he found something to say. “A significant part of my life,” Castiel began, “has been directed by a basic set of rules: give nothing unless I’m paid. And give the customer what he’s owed. Right now y... you’re both giving me more than I can repay. I’m indebted to you. And I don’t have anything to give back, I’m sorry.”

Sam reached over to Castiel, but paused before he got there. “May I touch you?” he asked. When Castiel nodded, Sam set his hand atop Castiel’s knee. “You owe us _nothing_ ,” Sam promised. “All right? Our reward is to see you strong again. Independent again.”

Castiel scoffed, staring at the carpet. “You don’t know what I do for a living. Being strong and independent would put me in a lot of danger. It’s safer if I’m weak, and scared. I should’ve retreated.”

His eyelids flickered, and he frowned... “I should’ve...”

He gasped. “I remember—” His eyes widened. “When Alistair punched me in the face, I had my knife...” He looked at his own empty hand. “Hit me in the wrist— Then, at the foot of the bridge...” His hand stroked the still-raised bump on his head. He shut his eyes, and breathed out. “Someone saved me. A sh... a shadow...”

He blinked rapidly, frowning again. “No. No, it’s gone.” He sighed, eyes rising to the cracked ceiling. “Nothing new. It’s the same as what I told Dean for his report. I was attacked by a man named Alistair. He threw me against a metal support beam, and robbed me of nearly a hundred dollars.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Castiel muttered. “No wonder I was robbed, carrying around that amount of cash.”

Sam shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Cas. Your attacker took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

Castiel swallowed and looked away. “When bad things happen to other escorts, I tell them the same thing.” He froze, realising he’d gotten too comfortable, and he’d been too honest.

“Escorts,” Sam repeated, spikes of shock chilling his skin. “You’re a sex worker?”

Castiel couldn’t meet his eyes.

Sam let out a breath, and gently urged, “Go on. Say what you were going to say; I’m listening. I think now I have a better picture of what you’re going through.”

Castiel swallowed. “I tell the others they aren’t to blame. But when it’s me, it just – it _feels_ like I made the wrong decisions. All the steps I took in my life led me into that situation. More than once. It happens over again and I never learn.”

“Your position is obviously very difficult, Cas. Financially, emotionally. Physically. You sound like you feel trapped. Is that how you’d describe it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, we can move forward from that. I hope you know, Cas: it’s _not_ your fault. I suppose you must think sometimes – what if I’d done this differently? Why couldn’t I make a different decision?” Sam watched Castiel’s lowered eyes. “Are those some things you think about?”

Castiel nodded, his throat pulling up.

“Listen to me very carefully, Cas. You did not have control in that particular situation. It was taken from you. And that’s why we’re here now. Dean and I, we’re going to help you learn to regain control.”

Castiel snorted.

“Do you not think it’s possible?”

Castiel gave Sam a sad look. “I think it’ll be harder than you realise. My relationship with Dean is sullied by money. I don’t know how to separate myself from that. The first time he and I met, we shared something with remarkable emotional depth, we forged a bond. But when I was—”

Castiel stopped talking abruptly, eyes down to the carpet.

Sam ducked his head to try and see those blue eyes under Castiel’s lowered lashes. “When you were what?”

“Recovering, in a van, after Alistair’s attack.” Castiel swallowed hard, and his lips trembled until he set them firmly together. “The women were meant to call someone, they were meant to call Mama... Eve... the woman who ran the brothel I used to work in. Of course she'd been arrested, awaiting another court trial now; that slipped my mind at the time. But Dean was the one who came to help me. At first, I... I didn’t want his help. I’m not his responsibility. He was a good memory returning to be tarnished by my bad experience. He was too good to me... too kind. I didn’t deserve him. And I didn’t want him to see me so weak.”

Sam pushed up a smile, reaching to grasp Castiel’s hand gently. “I’m glad you accepted his help in the end. Maybe that’s the bravest thing of all, you know? Admitting you need someone else.”

“I never wanted to be dependent,” Castiel said.

Sam let Castiel’s hand go with a squeeze. “I know. People rarely do.”

Castiel’s hand curled into a fist against his forehead, and Sam saw how tightly his eyes were closed. There was inner turmoil aplenty in there, but without hearing what Castiel had to say, Sam couldn’t know for sure what the issue was.

“Whatever you’re feeling,” Sam said softly, “It’s okay to feel it. Emotions, they just want to be _experienced_. Acknowledged. There’s no good reason to restrict a bad feeling, it’ll only make it linger within you, and burst out when you’re least expecting it. If you ever feel something negative... guilt, or worry, or sadness... let it wash over you, let it fill you, and just say to the feeling: I acknowledge you. Let it do what it came to do, then let it go on its way. If it’s all a big mess inside you, first you’ve gotta pull the threads apart. After some practice it’ll be easier to recognise each emotion and where it comes from.”

Castiel remained steady, nonreactive.

“I think,” Sam started, as his brain worked quickly, “Dean feels the same way you do. That... profound bond, the bond you described, it goes both ways. Dean...” Sam glanced off to the side and sighed. He gathered this thoughts, and stated them as bluntly as he could: “Dean’s been romantically starved his whole life. So have I, to be honest, but it bothers me a lot less. Dean sometimes talks about his job as a cop being his dream job, a hobby – but the way I see it, _finding love_ is his hobby, he just never realised it. It’s been unsatisfying for him.

“But get this, Cas. Since a few weeks ago – I assume that’s when he met you – he hasn’t talked about his online dating profiles, he hasn’t gone to a bar, he hasn’t answered any of the phone messages that’ve been clogging up our machine. He’s stopped fishing, and until now I wasn’t certain whether it was because he’d given up, or because he found what he’d been searching for. And then I’ve watched him care for you, feeding you, talking to you, eyes shining when you make him laugh— I don’t want to be the guy who says ‘he’s in love with you for sure’, but honestly? It’s starting to look that way. I’m actually just realising this now, as I’m saying it.” He chuckled. “Is any of this getting through?”

Castiel swallowed, turning his head downwards so he could rub the back of his neck. “Yes. I see what you’re saying, Sam. I have trouble believing it, but I appreciate you saying it.”

When Castiel spoke again, it was in a voice made weary by stress. “I don’t trust myself enough. I don’t have a good grasp on what I’m feeling, whether or not I can believe my own desires. My drive to please Dean is directly related to his generosity, I know it is. He gives, and I feel as if I owe him... myself.

“If I give in to Dean’s affection now, if I accept any more from either of you than some food and a vocal unburdening, I worry I won’t be able to pick _myself_ up again. I’ll just stay with you forever and never try to grow away from your safety. My addiction might not be alcohol, or drugs, or sex, but something that... well, it would probably make you laugh.”

Sam shook his head. “I won’t laugh.”

Castiel raised his gaze to the ceiling, taking a breath. “I crave affection. Despite never having any sort of sex drive, I thought... perhaps sex work wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it could be comforting; emotional connection. But I quickly discovered that sex is not the same as affection. It’s carnal and heartless, and most days a touch brings me nothing but emptiness.”

Sam considered the other man with a certain awareness building in his mind. Sam also knew Dean, so he could take a guess at something which was now vital to his understanding: “Dean was different,” Sam said. “Dean gave you exactly what you needed.”

“He was the dividing concept between drugs and medicine,” Castiel said, his words harsh on his breath. “I think he has the ability to heal me, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “Hey. No. Nobody can save you but _you_ , Cas. Other people aren’t meant to fill the void within us, they’re meant to add to an already-complete person. Everything you need to feel whole and healed is already inside you, okay? Other people can help, sure, but nobody else can ‘fix’ you. Not without you trying too. Those kinds of expectations aren’t fair to you, and they’re not fair to Dean; you can’t expect that from him. Whatever you need, we’ll find it together. You and me, we’ll dig up some buried treasure.”

Castiel seemed ready to sneer.

Calm, but insistent, Sam added, “Whatever traits you crave in Dean, it’s possible that’s what you feel you’re missing. But you have to love _yourself_ first. All the good stuff is there, Cas. Inside you. You have the capacity to love yourself. I _promise_ you.”

Blue eyes bored into Sam’s, and Sam saw fear in them. “But,” Castiel said, “what if I believe he could save me because I want him so badly? I want him to touch me again and say all the things he said before. And he gives the most incredible hugs.”

Sam burst out laughing, and nodded as he caught Castiel’s eye. He grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

Castiel sighed, thumbs stroking his own knees.

“If it helps, Cas: your path should be straightforward. Personal things aside, your options lie with returning to sex work, balancing out the pay with a dead-end job. Or, alternatively, you could step onto a different path, a fresh one. You don’t appear to have a plan worked out yet, but... I definitely encourage you to make one. What job would you want? Where do you want to see yourself in five years? College? Starting a small business? Or just... happy, maybe. Comfortable, at home. A pet rabbit. Tattoos. Anything you can think of that you could aim for.”

Castiel stayed quiet.

“Write it down,” Sam said, patting Castiel’s shoulder.

After a moment, Sam went on, saying gently, “Look... You see your need for affection as an addiction. Chances are, it’s not that; you’re just starved of a basic human need. I don’t know the extent of it, so don’t take my word for this – but to me, it sounds a lot like what Dean struggles with. I’m not surprised you fell for each other, you’re similar men.” Sam swayed his hand against Castiel’s shoulder, rocking him. “Believe me when I say Dean _wants_ someone to care for.”

“I don’t want to smother him,” Castiel said. “Given the chance, I _would_ smother him.”

Sam smirked. In his mind played the memory of a time at Bobby’s house, when a young Dean had gotten so excited he’d hugged all the breath out of Sam. His rampant affection as a child had been forced quiet as he grew, and while Sam was grateful he could avoid the sloppy forehead kisses, he never stopped being aware how much the suppression injured Dean. Sam was therefore delighted that Castiel was sitting here and expressing his woes with such a similar issue.

“Cas? Um. Just saying. I think Dean’s been waiting his whole life for you.”

Castiel gazed at Sam thoughtfully. Sam saw a flicker of doubt cross his face, then sadness. “You barely know me,” Castiel said. “Dean too, is only getting to know me. The way we talk is wonderful, we learn plenty of things about each other as people. Dean and I, what we share... I don’t have words to explain it. But I know about few of the experiences in his life, and I can’t guess how he would react to an everyday situation. How can any of us know if we’d get along together as partners? As roommates? We could irritate each other to the point of hatred. Perhaps this is why first dates are filled with seemingly pointless questions. I know what’s under the iceberg tip, but if his surface is poison to me, what good is that?”

Sam smiled. “What I find, Cas, is that once a connection is established, the debris doesn’t matter. Say one of you is the Earth, the other is the Moon. Gravity holds you together. But that connection is strong enough, and the distance between you is _just_ wide enough that neither of you see the crowds of satellites and trash that share your orbit. If you really feel how you say you feel, you have nothing to worry about, not about Dean.”

Castiel breathed out through his nose, then a smirk contorted the exhale into a laugh. He looked away from Sam, softly wringing his hands. “Funny,” he said. “You’re a lot like me, I think. I talk about icebergs, you talk about planets in orbit. Other people would talk about what we’re really talking about.”

“Which is what?”

“Love and fear. How well they go together.”

Sam smiled sadly, shaking his head. He put his hands on his knees, ready to get up, but paused for long enough to hold Castiel’s eye and impart some wisdom. “Love and fear aren’t meant to go together, Cas,” he said. “One day you’ll learn how to find the affection you need, how to ask for it. In the meantime, Dean and I? We’re here to offer it freely.”

Sam got up, and went to find fresh sheets for the bed in the study. He felt tangled inside, but was reassured that Castiel’s burdens would begin to lift – if not today, then soon. It was only a matter of time.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Dean tap-tap-tapped on the door to the study. When Castiel called “Come in,” Dean shouldered open the door, entering backwards with a silver tray in his hands.

“Hey, beautiful,” Dean smiled, placing the tray on the bed, near where Castiel sat cross-legged. He shut the door behind him. “Are those Sam’s old sleep pants? Damn, you look good in plaid.”

“You brought me tea,” Castiel said, feeling his heart glow.

“What? No, that’s for me,” Dean said, before laughing, and easing the tray closer to Castiel. “Yeah, I brought you tea. Chamomile. It’ll help you sleep better. Mom always used to make it for us whenever we’d get nightmares.”

Dean sat down next to Castiel, their backs against the wallpaper, shoulders together. Dean looked at the book Castiel had picked out from Sam’s stack of boxes.

“God, we have so much crap,” Dean muttered, eyeing the overflowing drawers and piles of books on the floor. “We keep packing up the apartment, thinking we’re gonna move out, then the house we wanted falls through and we unpack again. Perpetual box limbo.”

Castiel sipped the rippling surface of his tea, tired eyes gazing at the mess. “I hope you find the right place eventually.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah.” He looked down, straightening the terry-cloth ties of his robe. “Hey, uh. There was somethin’ I’ve been meaning to say. Never really found the right time, so... I dunno, I figured I oughta just go for it anyway. Spit it out.”

“What was it?”

Dean swallowed. He seemed nervous, fiddling with his robe. “You remember the night when you and I first met? And I told you I was a Marine.”

“Yeah.” Castiel sipped his tea properly, hoping its vapour would cover the real flush that crept up from inside him, re-bewitched at the reminder of his and Dean’s first night together.

“Look, I wanted... wanted to apologise... you know... for that. Was a shitty thing to do. And I keep thinking, if I’d told the truth and said I was a cop, you never would’ve had sex... I mean... made love to me. But that’s the whole point, right? You probably wouldn’t have followed through if I’d been honest. Which makes the lie worse.”

Castiel stared into his herbal tea, watching the teabag swirl gently around the mug’s edge. “I did know. I knew you were misleading me when you first said you were a Marine, and I saw your cop badge before we went for round two.”

“And yet you still...?”

“Everyone lies, Dean. You’re still a head and shoulders above everyone else in terms of your honesty and generosity.”

Dean scowled. “What? That doesn’t make it better.”

“It does. You’re greater to me than my other clients. Yes, you have flaws. But if I looked for perfection in everyone I’d never be content with any of the friends I have.”

“Cas,” Dean said breathlessly, adjusting himself on the bed to face Castiel. “You can’t forgive people so easily, man. I did something _wrong_ , you can’t just say it’s fine because other people have done worse. Hold me accountable, dude. It _should_ hurt your feelings when someone lies to you. Especially someone who you need to be able to trust.”

Castiel examined Dean’s determined expression, then lowered his eyes and sipped his tea. Deadpan, Castiel said, “Oh, Dean, you’re been a bad, bad boy. How would you like to be punished?”

“Cas—” Dean shut his eyes and sighed. “I’m not kidding. Please. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for lying.”

Castiel hugged the warm mug to his chest, and he nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Dean breathed out. “Are we good?”

Castiel nodded. “I’m really not mad, Dean. But, if it makes you feel better, I’ll try to act annoyed next time.”

Dean sat back, shoulder-to-shoulder with Castiel again. “If I’m worth anything to you at all, Cas, there won’t be a next time.”

Though he said nothing, just drank some more tea, Castiel did feel comforted by Dean’s apology. He would ultimately feel best once Dean proved his promise true, but that would take time. For now, Castiel felt special. There was a rare gem hidden in the dark coals of difficult truths and brutal honesty. It felt incredible to share that treasure between them.

This openness was strange and new to Castiel. He liked it.

“I had a reeeeal busy day at the precinct today,” Dean said, picking at a loose thread in his robe. “I swear, I spend ten times longer filing paperwork than I spend out in the field. Got a top score in the shooting range, though. Blam blam blam!” He blew smoke off the twin barrels of his interlocked finger guns, then chuckled. “How ‘bout you? You have a good day?”

Castiel nodded. “I had a good talk with Sam. He knows how you and I met now. I was worried he didn’t know you like men— I didn’t mean to tell him. I was talking about my own experiences, and the circumstances under which I met you were too closely relevant to escape being said. He doesn’t know everything. But he knows you paid for my services.”

Dean swallowed. “He didn’t know I’m into dudes. Or, at least, I’ve never told him. But there’s been some guys leaving flirty messages on the answering machine in the past – wouldn’t be surprised if he’d put two and two together. Me ‘n Sam don’t really chat about that kinda stuff.”

“He’s a very supportive brother.” Castiel smiled at Dean, holding his gaze. “You’re very lucky to have him so close.”

Dean smirked. His hand rose, and his fingers reached to brush Castiel’s hair off his forehead. “Lucky to have you, too.”

Castiel felt heat in his cheeks. He turned his attention back to his tea, and drank the last few sips all in one go. He hugged the mug again, appreciating its warmth.

“Hm-hm,” Dean chuckled. He reached across Castiel’s lap, retrieving the blue plushie dog he’d given as a gift. “Wuff. Wuff-wuff.” He made the dog wriggle under Castiel’s hand, sneaking in beside the mug.

“Oh, you want cuddles too, do you?” Castiel asked the dog.

“Yup-yup,” Dean answered, in the same gruff dog voice. “Snuggles and cuddles and kisses. Mwah-mwah-mwah!” He lifted the dog to Castiel’s face and pecked him with plushie smooches.

Castiel laughed, squirming until he flopped down into the bed, losing the empty mug in the blankets. Dean slunk alongside him, giving him kisses by plushie proxy. “Mwah-mwah-mwah! Love you!” Dean uttered, bouncing the dog’s soft little legs off Castiel’s cheek while Cas guffawed and covered his face with his hands. “Love you so much!”

Castiel grinned, peeking out from between his hands. “How do you know?” he laughed, directing his query to the dog. “How can you tell if it’s real love?” His laugh faded as he spoke. Now he felt quiet inside, and stared blindly at the expanse of pilled cotton around him.

Dean rolled onto his back and lay down right beside Castiel, holding the plushie dog above him. He wriggled it, and spoke in the dog voice again: “Wuff... You never felt it before?”

Castiel shook his head.

The dog bounced down out of the air and gave Castiel’s cheek a kiss. “Maybe it’s hard to tell at first, grgrgghgh. Wuff. But if it lasts a long time, and you’re still happy, then it doesn’t matter. Wuff. Wuff-wuff!” The dog tickled under Castiel’s chin, making him giggle and paw it away. The dog came back, settling nose-to-nose with Castiel, making him cross-eyed. “Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, nope! So long as you’re safe ‘n sound ‘n have lots and lots of kibble to eat! And cuddles every night! Wuff!”

Castiel grinned again, one hand reaching to pet the dog, one hand over its back. He kept it there, holding Dean’s wrinkled knuckles, fingertips on tender skin, shifting over the joints. “Thank you, little dog.”

“Wuff! Welcome!” The dog nuzzled Castiel one last time, then hopped away across Dean’s chest, and flew into a box on the other side of the room, going on a box-digging adventure.

Dean let his arm relax, hand curled near Castiel’s. He slowly stretched out his fingers, stroking Castiel’s wrist with the backs of his fingernails.

Castiel had begun to feel groggy, warm from the tea, heart alight with lingering laughter. He let his eyelids droop, enjoying the prickle that rang like static in the darkness.

“You want me to turn the light off?” Dean asked under his breath.

“Mm-hm,” Castiel murmured.

But Dean got up from the bed and opened the door to leave, and Castiel felt unsettled and cold.

Once Castiel heard the click of the lightswitch, and blackness shrouded his closed eyes, he called, “Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy. Right here.”

Voice low, Castiel asked, “Sleep with me tonight?”

Dean was quiet.

Then he shifted on his feet, and his voice was soft, “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can do that.”

A warmth filled Castiel’s body, heart outwards, as the light from the living room was shut away behind the door, and Dean stepped close to the bed. He shed his robe, draping it at the foot of the bed, then pulled all the extra blankets out to use. Castiel was already half-asleep atop the thickest duvet.

The mattress jiggled as Dean got comfortable. A cold rush moved the air as a blanket spread across them both. And then it was warm, and Dean was close enough to curl against.

Dean kissed Castiel’s cheek. “‘Night...” The mutter became a whisper as he added, “Beloved.”

Castiel flooded with delight. He’d never known such pleasure from a silly word.

He slowly drifted to sleep, feeling like he was made of warm cotton candy and glitter sparkles. It all faded to nothing, but even asleep, his body was aware of Dean. If they snuggled in their sleep, the comfort of it surely permeated both their dreams.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

They woke up too hot, and Dean stretched lazily, not caring that he pushed against Castiel and woke him up too. Castiel woke up adorably, blinking one eye then the other, testing for light and squinting like he was missing his glasses. He breathed in deeply, rolling over to tuck his arms around Dean.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean drawled, his voice thick and silky at once. He put a kiss on Castiel’s nose, then breathed in the scent of his skin. “Mmm, you smell like blankets.”

Castiel snorted, shoving Dean’s face away. “I can’t say the same for my breath.”

Dean chuckled, wriggling so he could hug Castiel properly. “I won’t ruin the moment by sniffing it.”

“Wise decision.” Castiel stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair, arranging it however he saw fit. “I suppose you think you’re making up for that first night we shared, when you left me to wake up alone.”

Dean squished Castiel’s middle gently. “I still regret that. We would’ve cuddled the fuck out of each other.”

Castiel snickered breathily into Dean’s hair, planting a kiss on his forehead. “We have time to make up for it.”

“Not really. I have work to get to.”

“Nooo.” Castiel nuzzled his stubble against Dean, making him inch away with a laugh each time.

“I have responsibilities,” Dean complained, reaching out of bed for the clock to check the time. “Saving people! Hunting criminals! Important business!”

Castiel groaned and rolled over, plopping himself down on top of Dean so he couldn’t escape. Their foreheads rested together, both of them grinning, neither of them with their eyes fully open. “You’re not going anywhere, Winchester. Not until I have been cuddled to within an inch of my life.”

“Oh yeah? That a challenge?”

“Indeed it is,” Castiel sighed, stretching out over Dean’s body and kissing his neck. “Although I would prefer that if I expire from an excess of cuddles, you put something more heroic on my death certificate.”

“That there is tamperin’ with the law, mister. But, hey― If you die from cuddles, I’m sure as hell expecting to be haunted by a cuddle ghost.”

“That sounds like too much fun. Ghosts are meant to have unfinished business. I don’t think cuddles are business.”

Dean kissed Castiel on the lips, no tongue. They gazed at each other, hearts too full of fluff to do anything except smile. “I have real business to do,” Dean said. “But I do actually have to get out of bed to do it.”

Castiel sighed, his smile never waning. “All right. You win this time.”

“Damn right I do,” Dean said, groaning as he pushed himself out from between the warm, warm covers. “But you mark my words, Cuddle Ghost, I’m coming back for you.” He shuffled his way out of the study, chuckling happily as he did.

Castiel laughed and burrowed under the covers, looking forward to Dean’s return.


	8. How Much I Love You

Days, as they always would if left unchecked, stretched on into weeks. Castiel quickly found his place in the Winchesters’ household routine. His early-bird sleep pattern adjusted itself by half an hour each day, so soon he woke when the brothers woke, and had the opportunity to eat breakfast with them before they went off to work.

He’d be left alone in the house in the daytime, and he entertained himself by making his way through Dean’s VHS collection, watching in alphabetical order, absent-mindedly stuffing his face with popcorn made in the mini popcorn machine Dean kept on the kitchen counter. Of course he ate some proper food too: nowadays there were always well-balanced meals stacked in the fridge, and often things in the kitchen were labelled with sticky notes.

_Beef stir-fry with ACTUAL VEGGIES! Sam made it, I’m just labelling it, don’t blame me if it tastes like grass. Hot sauce in the fridge door. love Dean x_

_Dean saved you a donut from the bakery (white box, top shelf) if you want a treat :) Sam_

_Working late 2nite, tell Sammy I’m bringing take-out. (♡ u) – D xx_

(One such label read, somewhat inexplicably: _Carrots!!!_ )

Once Dean came home, he and Cas always had a lot to talk about on the subject of movies. But that didn’t keep them from discussing more personal things, things that kept them up late at night, lying back on the bed in the study, sharing a blanket, watching moonlight gradually angle itself all the way around the room.

Dean would come home from work so tired that his eye sockets almost matched his green eyes, but not even sleep deprivation could keep him from telling Cas at length about his favourite make-believe games as a kid, or the terrible haircuts he chose as he was growing up. He listed his favourite star constellations, and counted all the scars he’d amassed on his skin over his lifetime. Castiel did the same.

Dean would go into work with a cup of homebrewed coffee smuggled inside a reusable Starbucks cup, and a smirky little smile that still lingered from a two a.m. tickle fight.

As he relayed to Castiel, Dean kept up his hundred-percent accuracy in the shooting range, but he started to realise things were off when he wasn’t filing enough paperwork.

They had to set a curfew: no more talking after midnight.

They still talked until one in the morning. But Dean got a bit more sleep.

The one-month marker came and went. As a trio, Sam, Dean, and Castiel knew full-well that the concussion symptoms had all but abated. Blessedly, Castiel was fine now. They all knew he could go back out if he wanted, looking for a new job, or soliciting a quick something-or-other for a stranger, so long as he didn’t tell the law-upholding Winchesters about it.

But he didn’t. And nobody asked him to. Nobody _expected_ him to.

Hell, he was only up to ‘K’ in his movie-watching escapade (but the recently-purchased _Air Bud_ was still his favourite). All the movies starting with ‘The’ were filed under ‘T’ anyway, so he had at least a month of movies remaining. _Clearly_ that meant he wasn’t done resting yet. At least, that was what Dean said, while they shared a bowl of cookie-dough ice-cream before bed. Castiel just smiled, and was thankful that his friends were so patient.

No, he didn’t want to go back out there. Some time ago, he’d seen his black t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans pressed and folded after Dean had put them through the wash, and the sight of his old uniform had set tremors of dread rippling through Castiel’s body. He’d had to hide in the bathroom until Sam mercifully hid the clothes away.

Castiel wanted to stick around. At least for now. He wanted to eat home-cooked pizza and exist in a state of peace for as long as he could. For as long as he was allowed.

He didn’t know how long he was allowed to stay, but he didn’t want to ask.

Every day he waited for someone to say it was time for him to put his ass in gear and move on with his life, but nobody did.

Every day he waited.

He was still waiting.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“Better?” Castiel asked, raising his arms at his sides. His trenchcoat swished with him.

Dean looked up from the car magazine he was reading, and his lips parted. He seemed speechless, and a hint of colour rose to his cheeks. His eyes darted to Sam, then back to Cas. He nodded, a twitch of a flustered smile on the corner of his mouth.

Castiel smiled in satisfaction. He looked down at himself, all dressed up in his old suit and tie. He felt powerful in this outfit. He didn’t remember it ever being this _clean_.

“You planning on going out?” Sam asked, pushing his long hair behind his ears.

Castiel shrugged. “I was considering going to check my P.O. box before the weekend. It’s across town, by the park.” He swung his guinea pig keyring from a finger, its two keys jangling together.

“You gonna walk?” Dean asked. “I could drive you over if you wanted.”

“I’d like to walk,” Castiel said. “I enjoyed my trip to the train station the other day, getting my coat and things back from my locker.” He stroked his coat with a hand. “I haven’t walked so fearlessly in years.”

“Good for you,” Sam smiled.

“I can come with you,” Dean said, getting up from the couch, already reaching for his leather jacket. “I could do with some fresh air.”

“Dean,” Sam scolded, “Give the guy some breathing room. You don’t have to follow him everywhere, he can take care of himself.”

Castiel protested, “You can come. I don’t mind.”

“There, see,” Dean said to Sam, yanking his jacket up to hug his back, popping up the collar. “He doesn’t _mind_.”

“Sounds like code for ‘too polite to decline’,” Sam teased.

Castiel shook his head, reaching to hold Dean’s hand. “I want you to come.”

Suddenly, the room’s ambience dipped into a simmering silence. Sam watched curiously. Castiel stood in place, unsure what the pause was for. And Dean stared blankly at their joined hands. Staring and staring.

Castiel give their hands a sway. “Well? Shall we go?”

Dean flustered, but looked up with a shy smile. “Wuh? Oh. Mm-hm.” His eyes darted to Sam. “See ya later, Sammy.” He sounded breathless. And excited.

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand for long enough for them to vacate the apartment, but as soon as the door was shut, their hands magnetised together again. Dean had beautifully-formed calluses on the heel of his hand; his skin was well cared for, and his grip was comfortably eager. It was strange and new, but Castiel definitely thought he felt _safer_ with Dean holding his hand. Maybe this was what children felt like when their parents cared about them. Secure. Confident that neither of them would walk ahead, they walked as equals.

Their steps synchronised on the stairs, and the shoulders of their coats hissed against the walls on both sides.

There was no reason for this, Castiel supposed. It just felt nice.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

They managed to get all the way across town, hand-in-hand, before someone on a bicycle wheeled past, splashing a puddle across their shoes and jeering at them. Castiel had heard so many slurs directed his way in his lifetime that he barely even registered the shout.

But Dean noticed. His hand began to sweat. He moved less fluidly; his head turned about to check for other people watching them; his lips were licked wet out of discomfort. He didn’t let go of Castiel’s hand, but Castiel could sense he wanted to.

Castiel let Dean go, just to see how he’d react.

Dean fell back by half a step almost immediately.

Then he jogged to catch up, slipping his hand back into Castiel’s, holding it tighter than before. His other hand moved to hold Castiel’s inner elbow, heart bumping to the back of Castiel’s arm – so Dean was sort of... hugging Castiel while they walked.

Neither of them said a word about any of this.

But by the time they reached the Post Office, they were holding hands the same way they’d set out. Again, they let go of each other to open the door. Castiel stepped in first, and the bustle and beaming brightness of the world outside was pushed away; the cocoon of grey ribbed carpet and metal edges surrounded him instead.

Several hundred P.O. boxes stretched in two directions, with a glass door leading off towards a separate storage company’s building. Two benches were laid out in the centre of it all, completely deserted. This place was quiet. A sheen of sunlight flashed across the grid of box fronts and up the wall, reflecting off a passing car.

“Which one’s yours?” Dean asked, following Castiel as he led him to the boxes on the left of the room.

“Three-eighteen,” Castiel said, pulling out his guinea pig keyring. With a key between his thumb and forefinger, he tapped a few metal boxes along until he found his. He stuck the key into his box and opened it up.

His shoulders slumped. “Junk mail.”

Dean took the wad of folded paper and pamphlets as it was handed to him. “Were you waitin’ on something special?”

“No,” Castiel lied. “Just toss it all. Let’s go.”

“Whoa, wait – you’re not even gonna open this stuff?” Dean asked, eyebrows up.

“It’s just companies telling me to buy things I can’t afford,” Castiel said. “There’s a recycling container, I rip the addresses off before I throw them out.” He held out his hand for an envelope.

“This one’s handwritten,” Dean complained. “Cas, c’mon. At least open the envelopes.”

Castiel sighed, head down. “Fine,” he said, resigning himself to the forthcoming revelations he was unwilling to give. He first took the thickest envelope, a white company-printed thing, with a glossy front window showing his address. He tore it down one side. He unfolded the letter coldly, glanced at it, then tossed it into the recycling bin.

“Dude—” Dean fished it out again. “This isn’t junk mail.” He straightened the top page, reading the first few lines.

His curious frown melted away to surprise, then – just as Castiel had dreaded – realisation.

Dean’s lips parted. “You owe _how_ much?!”

Castiel averted his eyes. “You don’t need to read it aloud, I know what it says.”

Dean gaped. “Cas— What did you— Who did you— _How_?!”

Castiel gritted his teeth and scowled at his shoes. “I was... reckless. Particularly as a young man.”

“But that— Cas, this is _obscene_. Jesus _Christ_ , no wonder you were living in a fucking cupboard! I thought it was weird, you drumming up a grand every other night and still somehow not making rent, but— _Jeeeesus_.” Dean turned away, hand over his mouth, pacing forward, then back, nostrils flared.

Castiel swallowed. He felt ancient guilt sitting stubbornly in the pit of his stomach, going nowhere.

Dean eventually calmed down, and came to stand before Castiel, the offending letter gripped between white fingers. He looked Castiel in the eye, and said, gently, “All right. You gotta – tell me what happened. I’ll try not to judge. No promises, though, ‘cause—” he rasped out a laugh, “this is kind of above my pay grade. More than literally. More like a _decade_ of my pay grade.”

Castiel tugged on the sleeves of his coat anxiously, eyes cast to the carpet. “I... I know what I did wrong. I trusted the wrong people. My problem was that I believed strangers when they spoke to me, promised me rewards – I learned the hard way that nearly everyone lies, or bends the truth, or ‘forgets’ key information, especially when they want something. Even more so when it involves large amounts of money.”

“Yeah, but what did you _do_?”

“I was tricked into making bad investments,” Castiel said. “Businesses which quickly folded, or were revealed to be fraudulent; cheap houses with foundations that were beyond repair, on land that’s worth next to nothing.”

“Hous _es_ — You mean _more than one_ —?”

Castiel shut his eyes, consumed by long-buried despair. When he’d collected himself, he opened his eyes again, reaching to grip the front of Dean’s jacket. “Follow me,” he said, guiding Dean away.

He led Dean through the glass door at the side of the room, which led directly into a storage facility. They walked in silence for almost a full minute, several feet apart, striding down concrete corridors, bordered on both sides by garage roller doors. Castiel heard Dean fall behind, looking around, then scampering to catch up. He kept breathing as if preparing to ask a question, but saying nothing in the end.

The second key on Castiel’s keyring opened a garage door, number forty-nine. It roared on its metal runners as he lifted it, and he rolled it upward, stretching on his toes so it locked in place.

Dean stood beside Castiel, dumbfounded.

The garage was full of protein shakes.

Dean shifted. “Am I... meant to infer something mind-blowing from this?”

“I purchased ten thousand,” Castiel said. “I was promised I’d be able to shift them in bulk, and I’d get a commission every time I did. If I could get more people recruited, encourage them to buy the product and sell it on, I’d get—”

“More and more and more, right? God,” Dean sighed in distaste, “you got sucked into a fuckin’ pyramid scheme.”

Castiel gulped, turning his face away from the sight of his failure. “These things no longer belong to me,” he said, without feeling much relief. “They belong to Eve. She bought all my debt – all of it, every nebulous pocket of it amassed over my fourteen years of financial mishaps. University loan included. She had me work for her, in the brothel. I was at my wit’s end, Dean. I was without hope, and she seemed like an angel.” Without shame, Castiel confessed, “My virgin body was the last asset I had remaining. I paid off half my debt at a private auction within a week.”

Dean stared. Castiel was sure he looked paler than usual.

Eventually Dean’s lower lip twitched, and he breathed out slowly. “That’s where your money’s going? You’re repaying your boss for clearing your debt.”

“She’s no longer my boss,” Castiel said. “Thanks to your cop friends, one more court trial and she’ll be in jail. But her letters still arrive in my inbox, demanding payment. I have no idea what would happen to me if I were to stop paying what I owe. I have to assume it would be worse than what I was doing before. Eve’s people aren’t simple-minded businessmen, they’re... demonic entities. She calls them the Yellow-Eyes. They’re all across the city, with a lot of money, and a lot of power.”

Dean’s hand slid into Castiel’s, and he held it. “It’ll be okay,” Dean said. “My precinct’s already on it. We know about the Yellow-Eyes. Had trackers on a few of them for years. Generally they work as debt collectors with, uh... shall we say, an _ambivalent_ relationship with the law – but we knew they had fingers in the sex trade.” He nudged Castiel with his shoulder. “You’re _out_ , Cas. Stop paying them. We’ve got you.”

Castiel looking at Dean carefully. “Could you really protect me?”

“To the best of our ability, yeah,” Dean promised. He squeezed Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go toss that damn letter in the trash together.”

“Shouldn’t we keep it for evidence in court?” Castiel asked.

Dean chuckled. “Smart.”

“At least I can say I’ve grown over the years,” Castiel smiled.

Dean smiled back. “Go on, stuff it in my pocket. I’ll get my work pals to look it over later, might find some clues.” Hesitating, he asked, “Are you... okay with that? Me tellin’ cop friends about your job...?”

Castiel nodded sternly, then folded the letter and slid it into Dean’s pocket. There was another of Castiel’s letters in there. He pulled the envelope out, looking at the handwritten address on the front.

“You recognise the handwriting?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said, in surprise. “Nora writes like this on the chalkboard outside the Gas-N-Sip store.” He opened the envelope far more carefully than the other one. He looked inside, then slid out two sheets of paper, folded together with a rose-gold staple in one corner.

Uncreasing the papers, Castiel looked over the first page, then flipped it up to look at the second. Excitement flushed through him, and he smiled. “Dean, look! Nora made my résumé look nice!”

Castiel found himself gushing with appreciation and gratitude. “She gave me an employer’s recommendation! It looks so neat and tidy— All the bullet points listing my past experience _line up_! All the dates are correct! And this sticky note says she emailed it to me, too!”

“Not a single word about your perky ass,” Dean noted, peering over Castiel’s shoulder with a smile.

“And I’m better for it,” Castiel said proudly. “She did say I’m exceptionally good at cleaning, though. Hm-hm!”

Dean clapped Castiel on the back. “Congrats. Best start figuring out what kinda jobs you’re suited for, huh?”

“I want it to be a _real_ job,” Castiel said, with enthusiasm pulling at his already-wide smile. “Something I actually enjoy, regardless of the pay.” He reached up and rolled the garage door closed, locked it, then pocketed the key.

As he started on the walk back to the exit, he pondered: “I always felt special as a teenager, like a... a character in a book. Obviously I came into a lot of money when my parents died, and I had access to all of it the moment I turned eighteen. It’s such a cliched, fairytale thing, I think.” With the résumé folded up and tucked away, Castiel took Dean’s hand and swung it. “I always thought I had the ultimate freedom; limitless cash, no rules, no parents. “But this... Yes, this is better. Freedom to work, earn for myself. Go from nothing, and start again.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re kind of a ball of sunshine, aren’t you? Man! Remember five minutes ago, when you were the world’s biggest pessimist? Everyone lies, the world’s out to get you—”

“That’s still true,” Castiel said. “But now I have some hope it’ll get better.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel nodded. He linked his fingers between Dean’s, and said, “It _will_ get better.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

The sky drooped over the city, overcast and grey. Its stomach gurgled, swollen with too many raindrops. Castiel sensed the faintest humidity hazing over his skin, dampening an otherwise crisp afternoon.

The sound of children chasing each other across the grassy expanses of the park permeated the air, with warbles of joy, and the low, distant yaps of playful dogs. An ice-cream van tinkled its tune, out of sight beyond the forest of lusciously red and yellow trees.

Dean and Castiel kept holding each other’s hands, staying close on the path so there was still room for parents to push their baby strollers, and folks on bicycles to wheel themselves through. Old men sat with their old wives on wooden benches, hands in bread bags, pulling out grain for the ducks.

Castiel looked up at the sound of dogs barking, and smiled at the sight of someone in a distant part of the park, walking a lot of dogs all at once. “Look at that,” he smiled.

Dean looked, and chuckled. “Gotta be a bitch to clean up after.”

“Dean!” Castiel chided. “Remove that horrible word from your vocabulary.”

“What?” Dean laughed, defensively. “It was a dog pun. Promise.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. He and Dean slowed down, watching the woman with four-five-six... _seven_ dogs, fighting to keep them in order as they dragged her stumbling across the dirt.

“We should help her,” Castiel said in concern.

“She’s stocky, I think she’s got it,” Dean replied, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Castiel blinked a few times, feeling a murky recollection surface from the very depths of his mind. It came in blurry flashes, along with a tangible feeling of pain – his wrist – he grabbed his wrist, a phantom bruise throbbing under his palm. Then came a thump inside his head. He felt dizzy. A slow breath entered his lungs, tasting not of the park he stood in, but a dusty construction site.

“Dogs?” he uttered, only realising afterwards that he’d said the word aloud.

“Huh?” Dean had brought them both to a halt, hand on Castiel’s elbow, sensing his disturbance. “Cas, you okay?”

Castiel looked at Dean in concern. “I think— I – I don’t know—”

“What?” Dean urged. “Tell me.”

“I think a dog... saved my life?”

“What? When?” Dean said.

“A dog saved my life,” Castiel repeated. “A big, black – beast.” He forced the words out, afraid the memory might vanish the way dreams did. “It saved me. Saved me from Alistair. Beneath the overpass.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Castiel shook his head. He gazed ahead, frowning in confusion.

“We’ll go check,” Dean said. “Just in case. Tomorrow. Would you be up for that?”

Castiel hesitated. Did he want to go back to that memory? That part of his life was behind him, he didn’t want reminders.

But what if there really _was_ a dog...?

He nodded. “Sam has to come too.”

Dean smiled. “Sam too. It’s a deal.” Softly, he took Castiel’s hand again, guiding him on through the park.

With a breath of relief, Castiel set aside the incomprehensible blurs that stifled his vision, and instead let the world return to his awareness. Cold air washed over him; autumn staleness poked at his taste buds.

Geese waddled along on the wrong side of the thick-wire fence, stepping on each other’s feet and snapping at tails in retaliation. Dean pointed out a little kid who offered a slice of cucumber to a goose. The child was promptly rebuffed, then chased back to his mother, screaming. While Dean laughed, tipping his head back, Castiel cooed in sympathy. But he still smiled. The kid’s mother was laughing too, picking him up to comfort him. The goose pattered away, looking cross.

Without warning, a fritzing remote-control toy biplane swooped across the walkway, and Castiel yanked Dean out of the way before he stepped into its flight path. They both watched the plane fly off, ascend into the sky, drop into freefall, spinning around and around with its parallel wings, and then plop straight down into the pond with a big fluttering splash. It vanished in a quickly-fading ripple. Dean snorted as a group of teenagers started honking and hollering on the other side of the pond, laughing at a competition lost.

“Did you ever do things like that?” Castiel asked, guiding Dean slowly into a leaf-scattered path, which smelled strongly of leaf rot: the scent was calming.

“What, force-feed geese a balanced diet, or get so obsessed with biplanes that I built a working miniature?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Either?”

Dean smirked. “Well, it wasn’t biplanes, but I, uh, did make a little boat, once. Took apart one of those toy four-wheelers I got in a thrift store, turned the wheel mechanism into a propellor. Stuck it on the back of a mini sailboat, gave the thing to Sammy to play with. Worked for about five days before the water got in. Was a good five days though. Good summer. Bobby’s got a photo somewhere.”

“Did you make all your gifts?”

Lips pressed together, Dean shrugged. “Some of ‘em. Stole a few more. I mean, like I said, growing up all over the place was never easy. My mom and Bobby tried the best they could, but... Nah, we did all right. Most Christmases I’d be thrilled to get a new pack of underwear. Sam preferred experiences – going somewhere fun, seeing the sights.”

“More than I can say for myself, at least,” Castiel smiled. “It must’ve been good to grow up with carers who fight for you. Actively providing for you, rather than buying satellite TV and thinking their job is done. At least your mother cared if you did well for yourself, got good grades.”

“Oh, says you, Mr. Straight-A-In-Everything. Self-motivation, man. Kinda hard to come by. By my count, you’re the one who got lucky. I would’ve killed for for satellite TV, we never had the money for that growing up.”

“Dean,” Castiel said sternly. “Don’t say that. I was lucky in some respects, but money really can’t buy everything. You paid for my services – you paid for an act of love, but you got my real love for free. No amount of money could provide that kind of authenticity. All _I_ ever wanted was a parent who showed their appreciation _before_ they died, not after.”

Dean exhaled, looking around at the twisting branches of the trees, watching the wind tease their leaves silly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay, I take it back. Your parents sucked. May they rest in peace.”

Castiel’s thumb stroked along Dean’s hand. His scalding ire faded away, calm returning with a cool breeze. “I wonder sometimes if they did the best they could. At least when they died, I didn’t have enough pleasant memories to miss them too badly. I suppose that’s a plus.”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “Feels good to hurt sometimes. At least if you miss someone wholeheartedly, you know you love them.”

“Like you missed me?” Castiel asked, smiling.

Dean ducked his head, failing to hide his blush.

Castiel’s gaze softened, as weeks of drifting thoughts all fell into place. He bumped Dean’s side with his own. “Like I missed you.”

Dean gazed at him curiously, then fondly. They smiled together, and Castiel felt his heart rush with long-awaited pleasure.

Yes, he was in love with Dean. Romantically. For real.

And now they both knew it.

They emerged from under the tree cover, only to find it had begun to rain. Dean chuckled, taking the neck of his leather jacket and hauling it up to cover his head.

Castiel didn’t bother. Instead he turned his face to the sky, and walked with his eyes closed, finding bliss in being led by his hand, all his worries leaving him a little more with every cold speck that trailed from his cheeks.

He felt euphoria swelling inside him, raising his heart, lifting his spirits in a way that felt physical. He felt the white light of the sky making him transcendent: once a mere mortal, now some glowing entity, emerging from a cocoon of pain to spread his wings, free at last.

It was only a fine wash of rain. But it came at a time he needed it.

He opened his eyes, feeling warm tears escape him, caressing his cheeks along with raindrops. He drew in a cold, damp breath, and let it go, relieved.

He turned to Dean, who had watched Castiel’s experience, perhaps understanding it, though he hadn’t experienced the same.

“Do you believe in sin, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Sin?” Dean repeated. “Like – you do bad stuff, you go to Hell?”

“The concept that there is wrongdoing to be done,” Castiel said, leading Dean to a forked path and going right, rainwater splashing under his steps. “That it’s possible to purposefully choose the wrong path, perhaps because it’s easier, or gives more gratification. And you choose it knowing it might hurt someone.”

Dean pulled his jacket down, so he could see Castiel more clearly. “Is that what you think you’ve done, Cas? Sinned? Done bad in the eyes of your chosen deity?”

Castiel gazed at Dean softly, confusedly. “Do you think I haven’t?”

Dean’s mouth pulled into a forgiving smile. “Look, I dunno about sin, or free will versus predestiny or whatever – but Cas? If there was ever such a thing as ‘the right path’, you took it. You’re _on_ it. Nothing you did was ‘easier’ than it could’ve been. You might’ve given up, but you didn’t – you fought through. And tell me what part of the crap you went through was more _gratifying_. Huh?” He shook his head, and re-aligned his hand with Castiel’s, holding his palm secure. “The only person it hurt was _you_. If life is all one long test, Cas – and that’s a _big_ ‘if’ – you’ve holding up well. You’ll come through just fine. Pass with flying colours, all that jazz.”

Castiel’s gaze dipped to Dean’s heart. He didn’t know what to think, but he felt calm.

“Why do you ask?” Dean pried. When Castiel glanced up, Dean nosed towards him as they walked. “Why’re you askin’ _me_ about our Earthly sins?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder, eyes on the path as the walkway rose upward under their feet. He watched raindrops speckling heaps of soft fallen leaves, making them twinkle. “All the time I was working at the brothel, and under the bridge, I often wondered if I was doing something wrong. Besides breaking the law, I mean.”

“And? What’s the verdict?”

“No,” Castiel decided. “No, I think I made the best decisions I could at the time. It did weigh on me, though. Not sin, just worry. I think I felt it leave me. All the... hurt. The heaviness. All that baggage.”

“Yeah?” Dean smirked, eyes wide with wonder. Maybe he thought it was ridiculous, but if he did, he didn’t say so.

Castiel nodded. “I don’t really know what to do now. I feel... empty. Blank.”

“Ready to start fresh?”

After a second of thought, Castiel nodded again. “Yes. A fresh start.”

They were both distracted by a crack of thunder that broke the sky apart, tumbling through the atmosphere like a plane coming in to land inside a bowling alley. Dean ducked back under his jacket, wary eyes rising to watch the rain’s pitter-patter turn decidedly into a downfall.

Dean jerked forward, eager to find cover, but Castiel held him back, too enthralled with the feeling of purification that the water brought. He raised his arms, laughing into the air as the pouring rain trickled down inside his shirt collar, sticking the cotton to his chest.

“Cas, I’m gettin’ soaked,” Dean complained, tugging on Castiel’s hand.

Castiel just tilted his head to appreciate the sight of Dean’s t-shirt clinging to his navel, fine water stripes running all the way down his jeans. The freckles on his face were matched by glittering droplets; his long eyelashes were clumped by water.

“You look beautiful,” Castiel said to Dean, soft voice mostly drowned by the rain.

Yes, the words were gentle. But Dean heard. No, he didn’t sneer, or roll his eyes and turn to leave. Instead he stood up straighter, lips parting. His face seemed so say, ‘ _Oh? You think so?_ ’

Dean’s voice cracked as he replied, “So do you.”

Castiel smiled, reaching to cup Dean’s jaw in his hand. Dean felt the touch and leaned so far into it that he came face-to-face with Castiel, noses inches apart, clouded breath sweet on each other’s lips. The briefest smile lifted the corner of Dean’s lips, showing his teeth. Seeing him so radiant, Castiel dared not miss the opportunity: he kissed him.

Lips pressed cold at first; the rain was stuck between them. It warmed on their skin; Dean’s exhale was hot on Castiel’s upper lip. They parted their lips, and the ribbed skin of Castiel’s lip stroked the tender inside of Dean’s lip, sleek as anything.

Dean sighed, body easing closer to Castiel’s. His hand snuck around Castiel’s lower back, pressing into the baggy waist of his trenchcoat; his other hand tugged on Castiel’s coat collar. Castiel kept his own hands either side of Dean’s stubbled jaw, fingers spread, holding Dean’s face steady; even with his eyes closed, Castiel still knew where to put his lips.

His heart beat somewhere inside him, but he could no longer pinpoint where. All of him had become a single heartbeat, his skin throbbing with his pulse, sure he glowed in a loving pink haze on every beat. He shone brighter each time Dean kissed him, each time Dean’s heart pounded.

The sky rumbled again, softer than before. The sound reminded Castiel that they were in the midst of a rainshower; it hadn’t seemed so important when all he saw and felt was Dean.

They separated at last, Dean’s gaze shy but unyielding, lips plush. His skin was alight with joy; it showed in his eyes, in his cheeks, in the graceless smile that quirked up on his lips. He was helpless to control it, and Castiel could tell he was happy.

Dean laughed – not out of amusement, but glee – and he took Castiel’s wet hand, finally tugging him, urging him to move on. They stepped into a jog together, avoiding mushy leaves and slippery mud as they bolted for the tree cover nearby. They didn’t try and make it to the biggest woodland area, but stopped at the first tree, the only green deciduous around. Dean pressed his back to its thick trunk, pulling Castiel up to hold him to his chest.

Leaves tickled at their cheeks, clinging to their jackets. They laughed, sharing soft, intimate kisses as the rain drenched the world around them.

They held tight. Hands by each other’s necks, warm to the touch. Noses against cheeks, sharing breath. Eyes closed.

After a handful of minutes, the rain eased up, as the clouds overhead were swept away. A subtle humidity lingered, and the sun dared to peek out and shine upon the world below. Everything gleamed; the leaves of the park’s greenest tree illuminated with rims of gold.

The smug scent of petrichor rose from the ground; Mother Earth’s signature perfume infiltrated the world. If Dean or Castiel had thought to step back from each other and turn around, they’d have seen a rainbow.

They felt the heat of the sun, but they did not turn. They didn’t need to. The rainbow was inside them, too.


	9. Non Timebo Mala

Castiel’s knuckles had begun to ache; he’d wrung his hands so many times over. At present, he preferred the backseat of Dean’s Impala, and he was glad he’d chosen not to sit in the front. Castiel could see between Sam and Dean’s shoulders, so he saw the road ahead, but the brothers made a barrier for him: they were the front line.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. “The overpass is coming up. We can still turn around. You sure about this, Cas?”

“No,” Castiel admitted. “I’m not sure about anything. But don’t turn back. I want to be certain.”

Dean glanced at Sam, then set his eyes on the road once again. One hand on the steering wheel, he angled the car off the main road, missing the turn for the bridge, instead dipping down a gritty slope, not meant for public access. The car’s tread followed the grooves made by trucks and other vehicles, sloping down and down until they levelled off, in the shade of the overpass.

The ground was uneven, and the car bumped and jiggled along as Dean wound around the bridge’s legs. Castiel’s hands twisted together, fingers latched between each other as if in prayer. If Castiel even considered praying at a moment like this, he couldn’t concentrate enough to do so.

“Here,” he said quietly, seeing the exact leg of the bridge under which he was attacked. “Yes, this is it.”

“The Red Cross van is gone,” Dean observed. “You remember that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, as three faces came to mind. “Rowena, Bela, Clea...”

Dean glanced at Sam and explained, “The doctors. They called me, saved Cas’ life.”

Castiel felt a peculiar dissonance upon hearing those words. He didn’t remember them being doctors.

“I’m pulling up here,” Dean said, easing the Impala into a flat area, near an abandoned cement mixer. “Boy, it kinda looks like this place hasn’t been touched in a year.”

Castiel opened the back door, setting his old boots down onto semi-solid ground, textured with tire tread. Dazed, he walked some way ahead, feeling footprints left behind as he sank down on every step.

This place was a nightmare place for him. He didn’t remember everything, but what he did remember wasn’t at all pleasant. For weeks and weeks on end, prior to the attack, he’d been back here. He’d lain in the backseat of so many cars, bumped his head against dozens of steering wheels, washed his hands clean more times than he wanted to count. He’d lost more than the one pocket knife in the dirt here. The shapes of his bruises were all gone now, but he still felt them beneath his skin. He still had dreams about his bootprints in this very dirt.

He almost got as far as the bridge, stomach cold with acid, when he felt a hand scoop up his own. He looked to his left and found Dean there, looking up at the vines that draped from above. Castiel immediately felt more at ease.

“So,” Sam said, approaching with a red leash wrapped around one hand, a colourful bag of dog treats in the other. “Where’s this dog of yours, then?”

“I... I don’t know,” Castiel said. He looked around: very few other cars hung about, even though it was Saturday, and the sun shone brightly.

“You sure it wasn’t some kind of concussion-induced hallucination?” Dean asked. “You get hit in the head, you see angels, right? Or in your case, some kind of hellhound.”

Castiel shook his head, feeling a strange pang of potential guilt. What if they didn’t find anything? Would he be frowned at for leading the brothers on?

“Hey,” Dean said, tugging on Castiel’s hand. “Don’t look so worried, man. We either find something or we don’t. If we do: great, we get another lonely stray off the streets. If we don’t... well, at least we’d know there’s no poor dog going hungry out here, right? C’mon, gang. Let’s split up and look for clues.”

Sam snorted.

Castiel got the reference right away too, and proved it by saying, “Scooby Doo.”

Dean smirked.

They did separate as Dean suggested: Sam went right, patrolling the perimeter of the construction site. Dean walked along under the bridge, zig-zagging between its massive metal stilts, looking all around. Castiel stayed put. He kept his head down, eyes scouring the scarred dirt for pawprints.

After twenty minutes, Castiel was sure he’d seen a few paw marks. But they were disconnected from each other, leading nowhere, their path marred by bootprints and tire tread.

He sat against the hood of the Impala, listening to Dean’s distant whistling, watching him waggle a dog chew. “ _Heeeeere doggy doggy doggy,_ ” he called, in the manner people usually enticed cats.

Turning his head, Castiel saw Sam about fifty feet away, bent down, head forward, craning to see into a ditch.

Shaking his head, Castiel stood up. He was sure they’d been here long enough. “There’s nothing here,” he shouted, hands around his mouth to direct his voice to Dean. “Let’s go!”

He turned and called to Sam, “Sam, let’s go.”

Sam stood straight, hearing the shout. Hands around his mouth too, he replied, “ _You didn’t find anything?_ ”

Castiel shrugged bodily, arms out, so his movement would be noticeable from a distance. “Just pawprints! Could be anyone’s dog. People come in and out all the time!”

He sank against the hood, hunching with his head down.

Dean came along soon after, boots scruffing the dust. Castiel, with his head still bowed, watched the tattered cuffs of Dean’s jeans scrape away other people’s footprints.

Dean sat down next to Castiel with a sigh, and together they gazed out upon the cratered expanse before them. “It’s too bad,” Dean uttered. “I was kinda looking forward to dressing the thing up. Little studded dog collar. Bow tie for fancy occasions. Velcro booties and a macintosh for snow days.”

Castiel laughed. “Maybe it’s a good thing this dog doesn’t exist, then. That would be torture.”

“Who says it doesn’t exist?” Sam said, approaching with the dog leash still twisted around his wrist. “Did you leave the back door open on purpose?”

Castiel glanced back at the Impala, seeing the back door wide open. “Oh, yes, that was me. Sorry.”

He got up to go and close it, but sighed as he got there, hand on the door frame. “We might as well leave,” he said, looking dejectedly back at the brothers. “I wish we _had_ found something. But like Dean said, it was probably a concussion-induced hallucination. There’s no dog here.”

He slammed the door closed – then froze. He listened hard, squinting at nothing.

_Aroof._

“Did you hear—?” Castiel turned wide eyes on the Winchesters, who’d both stood to attention, ears pricked.

_Roof! Oof!_

Castiel’s eyes went to the source of the noise. His blood chilled.

Inside the Impala was a massive black beast, with beady eyes, a ripped ear and ferocious white teeth. It was looking _right at him_.

“Dean— Dean!” Castiel waggled a hand frantically in the brothers’ direction. “It’s in the car! It’s _in the car_! What do we do?!”

“The hell?” Dean rushed over, gawping. “Sam, didn’t you bring the treats with you?”

Sam lifted the packet he held. “I picked the bag that made a noise when I shook it. I left the dried pork cutlets on the backseat. It must’ve sniffed them out while we were wandering around...”

The dog panted on the window, fogging up the glass. It then growled, lips drawn back in a wrinkled snarl. The growl quickly became a whine, and it did a full one-eighty, bumping all the seats as it did.

“God, that’s terrifying,” Dean said under his breath. “Like, cool, we caught the thing, but— Jesus, it’s gonna tear up the leather. Hey! Beastie! Get your dirty paws off the seats!”

“It’s too big for the footwell, Dean,” Sam said. “ _Wow_ that thing is huge.”

Castiel touched his spread fingertips to the glass. “It’s okay, doggy. We won’t hurt you.” He turned to the brothers and informed them, “No collar. And it looks too thin, I can see its ribs. I’d be confident in assuming it doesn’t have an owner.”

The dog turned around again, barking. It sounded like a dining fork swiped against a bass drum.

Dean let out a slow breath through pursed lips. “All right. Guess we gotta... get this thing to an animal doctor. Looks a little beat-up.” He cleared his throat. “So. Who’s driving?”

Sam and Castiel both looked at Dean.

Dean ducked his head and exhaled. “Right.” He licked his lips, wresting his car keys out of his jacket. “Cas, I’m gonna have to veto the backseat. You’re riding up front with us. Gonna be a tight squeeze.”

Castiel tried to argue, but Dean gave him a stern look. Even if Castiel thought the dog looked friendly past all the scars and teeth, there was the very small chance that it was hungry and wild enough to override any sense of decency it might have.

Dean, Sam, and Cas all scooted in along the wide front seat, hearts pounding. The stench of _dog_ was prevalent: the car now smelled dusty, and toothy, and like hot, huffed breath.

The dog whined in long stretches, but it seemed to vocalise as, “Fwee, fwee, fweeee, fweee.”

“Good dog,” Sam said firmly, peering over the front seat and into the back. “We’re going to take you somewhere safer, okay? Get you some food.” He looked at the dog treats he held, then opened the packet and took three, handing them to Dean and Castiel. “Give it these. Let it sniff your hand.”

Castiel accepted the gritty morsel Sam handed him, rolling it between his thumb and fingers. Sam fed the dog first: he reached over the seat and dropped the treat on the floor. It was gobbled up in an instant, with a wet gulping noise.

Dean seemed highly on edge, but he held himself together for long enough to toss the dog its second treat. Chest-to-chest with Castiel, he rotated his torso back to face the steering wheel. Castiel went last. He didn’t feel as much fear as he suspected the others did: he leaned all the way down, offering the treat in his open palm.

He laughed as the dog licked it out of his hand, and he pulled back his hand to look at it, all slimy.

Dean’s lip quirked in disgust. Castiel just chuckled, wiping his hand on his borrowed jeans. He took the dog treats from Sam, and began to offer them handful by handful to the dog, in lieu of some real dinner. The poor thing was ravenous; it ate without chewing, panting eagerly each time Castiel dipped his hand into the packet for more. Dean grumbled, but reached forward and keyed up the engine. As the car began to vibrate and rumble, the dog pattered around, _orf_ ing nervously.

“Shhh, shh,” Castiel said gently. “You’ll be okay. Everything’s fine.”

Carefully – oh, ever so carefully – Dean drove the Impala back out of the construction site. He went fast up the ramp, then slowed once the car levelled out.

“Where’s the nearest veterinary clinic?” Dean asked, glancing past Castiel to see Sam.

“On it,” Sam said, pulling out his smartphone to look up a map. “Head towards that place they sell fir trees at Christmas, I know it’s somewhere around there.”

They drove in semi-silence, broken either by Sam giving directions, or Castiel turning around in his seat to quell the anxious dog’s barking. Dean kept lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck; Castiel presumed it was because it felt the dog’s warm breath tickling at his skin and hair. Sam’s hair was too long to leave his neck exposed, and Castiel’s trenchcoat had a collar that was tall enough to cover his nape. The dog was indeed very huffy.

They reached the vet clinic within ten or fifteen minutes, and Dean parked out front, with the Impala’s nose eased to within feet of the clinic’s front door. The sun cast a watery shine across metal-latticed windows, displaying faded posters with once-brown dogs and cats, now all shades of blue.

“I’ll get the dog,” Sam said, ready with the leash. “Dean, you get the door. Cas—”

“I’ll stay vigilant, and offer praise and hearty encouragement,” Castiel said with determination.

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam smiled. “On three?”

Dean rolled his eyes and got out before Sam could start a countdown. Castiel got out after him, and Sam exited on the other side. With the front doors closed, Dean gripped his hand on the back door handle, gulping twice as Sam came to his side.

“Does it scare you?” Castiel asked, looking at Dean curiously.

“It _doesn’t_ scare you?” Dean replied, baffled. “That thing’s got two different coloured eyes and teeth like razors, of course it scares me.”

“I like its eyes,” Castiel said, catching sight of them through the window. He smiled. “It’s a pretty dog.”

Dean clearly thought Castiel’s statement was unfathomable. But he said nothing, just opened the door and allowed Sam to gently and calmly ease into the car, wrapping the leash around its neck and clipping the rope to itself, since the dog had no collar.

“It’ll do,” Sam said, giving the dog a small tug to encourage it to hop out of the car. “Gooood dog,” he said, as he handed it another treat. “ _Such_ a good dog.”

Dean, pale-faced, rushed up to the clinic and opened the door, standing back with his face turned away as Sam led the dog inside. Castiel followed behind, cheerfully observing the smallest wag of the dog’s black tail.

Once inside, its nose immediately went hyperactive, sniffing madly at everything within sniffing range: the floor, the fake-wood coffee table stacked with animal pamphlets, the clinic’s front desk, with loose pet fur collected into a drifting puff against its base. Castiel stood beside the desk, also overwhelmed by smells. Chlorine, pet food, squeaky-clean linoleum. He looked over his shoulder and saw an old man waiting on a bench, with wrinkled black skin, white hair, and a cat with colours to match. The cat was in a wire carrier, and the carrier rattled as the cat arched its back, tail puffed up, hissing and spitting all its breath out, offended by the dog’s existence.

The dog sat down on its bony haunches, watching the cat interestedly. Castiel became fascinated with the dog’s form: it had upright triangle ears, almost cat-like; the one eye Castiel could see was ice-blue, while the other one was half blue and half brown. It was clearly an intelligent beast, there was something thoughtful about its eyes. Its body was lithe – underweight, definitely – long in the spine, tight in the hip, round in the back knees and dainty on its feet. Its tail spiralled naturally, even when relaxed.

“You are a very beautiful dog,” Castiel told it, touching its ripped ear. A long-ago-healed gash separated half its triangle ear from the rest of it. None of its coarse fur grew there, but its skin was also black, so only Castiel’s fingers could tell the difference. The dog didn’t seem to notice Castiel’s petting.

Dean finally eased himself into the clinic’s waiting room and shut the door behind him, wary eyes on the dog. Sam’s fingers tap-tap-tapped on the front desk, still waiting for service.

A door at the side of the waiting room blew open, and out came a harried-looking woman with aggressively curly red hair and dimpled cheeks. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said, looking at someone inside the bright room she’d just left. “I’ll call and let you know, thank you.”

Castiel looked down, and saw with surprise that the woman was carrying a green-and-red parrot in a large cage. “‘Scuse me, sorry, ‘scuse me,” the parrot lady said, squeezing between Sam and Dean to reach the front desk. The dog got up and trotted back a few paces, tail wagging, sniffing madly at the parrot.

“ _Silly biscuit,_ ” said the parrot to the dog, in a scritchy, tinny voice. “ _Silly silly biscuit._ “

The dog stuck its nose between the rungs of the bird’s cage, and though Sam scolded it, and tried to pull it away, the bird got there first: it pecked the dog right on the nose, and the dog jerked back, _aef_ ing in surprise.

“Stay,” Castiel said, touching the dog’s head before it tried to go forward again.

When the parrot lady was finally done paying, she puffed and panted some more thank-yous to the vet behind the counter, then squeezed out again, heading for the door. Despite Sam and Castiel’s discouragement, the dog turned to watch the parrot go.

“ _So long, pal,_ “ the parrot said as it left.

The dog sniffed the outside air, even after the door closed.

“Alllll righty, what’ve we got here?” said the vet, a scruffy-looking Englishman with a big smile. “Oop, you’re new. Haven’t seen your handsome faces around here before.”

“Hi,” Sam smiled quickly. “Uh, we picked up a stray dog. Gotta get it checked and stuff. Vaccines and worming and fleas?”

The vet raised his eyebrows. “Absolutely. You three take a seat, I’ll see you after I’ve checked in with Mr. Jones here and his – oh dear – very agitated kitty-cat. Mr. Jones, we’re ready to see Trevor now! Come on through.”

The man with the piebald cat got up slowly, weight on his walking stick. He’d only carried the cat cage two steps before Dean hurried over, muttering, “Here, lemme give you a hand,” taking the cage for him. The cat growled something terrible, but Dean had the cage into the vet’s room and was back out in six seconds. Old Mr. Jones wheezed a quiet “Thank y’h sonny,” before he closed the door behind him.

Dean let out a breath, walking stiffly back and forth through the waiting room, arms stretched forward, swung to his sides, then back, fists tapping together.

The dog got up, barking at Dean.

“You’re making everyone stressed, Dean,” Sam said to Dean. “Sit down,” he added, but was surprised when the dog sat too.

Castiel chuckled. “It must know some commands.”

“Maybe it had a home once,” Sam agreed. “Someone must’ve trained it. Up!”

The dog got up, looking expectantly at Sam.

Sam grinned. “Sit.”

The dog sat.

“Good dog!” Sam crouched down. “ _Good_ dog.”

Castiel took the treat packet from the pocket of Sam’s grey windbreaker, tipping out a treat and giving it to the dog. It ate, then began to pant, smiling and softly waving its tail.

Sam and Castiel shared a broad grin.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“Hello, hello, hello,” the vet said, beckoning Dean, Sam and Castiel into the room. “Dr. Mick Davies, good to meet you, good to meet you, hello,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. His bright blue eyes fell to the dog, and his smile widened. “Well!” he exclaimed, in a stuffy British kind of way. “Who do we have here?” He dropped to a crouch, offering a hand to the dog to shake. “No takers? No takers? What a pity.”

He got up again, beaming at his three-man audience, and he leaned past them to shut the door to the examination room. “Your dog’s not looking particularly tip-top, is she?”

“She saved my life,” Castiel said, an affectionate hand cradling one of the dog’s ears. He noticed Dean watching him as he added, “I was... attacked – some weeks ago, she jumped in and chased off my assailants.”

“Did she, did she,” Dr. Davies said, nodding gently. He had to be the same age as Castiel and the Winchesters, but his eyes seemed especially youthful. He kept his eyebrows raised.

“Look, uh,” Dean started, head turned towards the wall, eyes downcast, “it’d be great if you could look her over, Doc. Give her a checkup, whatever it is you do with stray dogs.”

“A stray – oh, yes, you said. Well, I’ll have to call Animal Control,” Dr. Davies said, already reaching for a wall-mounted beige telephone. “A friend of mine works there, she’ll be along in a tick.” He cleared his throat, open-mouthed, lifting the receiver to his face and pressing a single button. His voice went from the honeyed crispness Castiel had gotten used to, to a warm and affectionate purl. “Heya, pumpkin,” he smiled into the phone. “No, no, it’s all work-work-work. Got a threesome from the denim-wrapped bod-squad here, with a stray dog who needs seeing to. Yup. Indeed. Oh, you’ll be right over, excellent. See you soon, honeybunch. See you.”

He hung up the phone with a sweet smile. “My fiancee. She’s lovely, you’ll adore her. Now! If there’s no objections, I’ll get to checking if your pooch has a microchip! Oh-hoo, she’s beautiful, isn’t she. Yes. Yes-yes-yes,” he crooned, wobbling the dog’s face between his confident hands.

Castiel beamed. He looked at Dean, still beaming. Dean licked his lips in distaste, avoiding Dr. Davies’ eyes. Sam met Castiel’s gaze, however, and he was smiling too.

Dr. Davies went off to rummage in a stainless steel drawer, coming back with an odd circular device with a screen and a handle. “Now, let’s see,” he muttered, waving the contraption over the dog’s head and down its neck, roaming back and forth. The dog fidgeted, trying to see what the vet was doing. Castiel hushed her, scratching at her soft jowls.

“No microchip,” Dr. Davies said. “Tut-tut.” He turned the scanner off and went to return it to the drawer. “I can put one in for you, if you’d like. Where did you find her, by chance?”

Sam answered first, “The abandoned construction site, below the overpass.”

“Ooo, bad area,” Davies said. “Living around there’ll account for most of these bumps and bruises, ey?”

“Can we get a rabies shot, or somethin’?” Dean pressed.

“We can indeed,” Dr. Davies said.

He spent some time administering several shots, starting with a rabies vaccination – he wasn’t convinced the dog had ever had her first shot, so a booster might not be enough. Then came a full-body check for fleas, and all other kinds of itchy parasite-type things, the thought of which made Castiel cringe. Dr. Davies handed Sam a packet of flea drops, then showed them all how they should administer the drops to the back of the neck after she’d had a bath. Then came tablets for worms. Castiel helped hold the dog’s backside, steadying her as the vet opened up her jaws with his fingers and poked in a tablet, holding her jaws shut until she gulped.

“What a good dog! _What_ a good dog,” Dr. Davies said, ruffling the dog’s face. “Does she have a name?” He looked up at Dean this time.

Dean raised his hands, both in defense and surrender. “Hey, I just drove her here. Didn’t even know she was a girl dog until you said.”

“Dean’s scared of her,” Sam teased. “No, we haven’t named her. We don’t even know if—” his eyes darted to Castiel, then Dean, then back to the vet, “if we’re keeping her. Are we allowed to keep her?”

Dr. Mick Davies sighed as he straightened up, and his smile brightened. “You’ll have to ask Donna that. Hello, darling.” He crossed the room, and Castiel turned his head along with Dean and Sam, eyes lighting on a smiley round woman in a green Animal Control uniform, who’d just entered the room.

“Hey, sweet-cheeks,” the woman said, arms around Dr. Davies’ neck. She smooched him on the lips, kissing once, twice, then pecking him again. Her eyes turned to the trio, and she chirruped, “How’s about that, we’ve got ourselves an audience, eh?”

Dean immediately flustered, looking away. Sam smiled plainly and openly, but Castiel couldn’t help himself, he loved seeing people in love. “You make a very nice couple,” he told them.

“Ah, shucks,” Donna said, waving a hand. She lingered at Davies’ side, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, as he bent her way so she could reach. “Mwah.”

Dean had gone bright pink. Ears included.

“Hiya, pupper,” Donna said to the dog, fearless as she strode up to her. “Oh, you are a bit worse for wear, aren’t’cha. Hm, must be part Husky, tail and ears like that. Got a lil’ bit of a white undercoat, too, eh? Let’s see... No tags, no collar—”

“No microchip,” Dr. Davies added. “I just administered all her shots. That’ll cost these boys a pretty penny.”

Castiel flushed with realisation and worry. His eyes went to Sam, but Sam immediately waved him down, mouthing ‘ _Later_ ’.

“Listen,” Dean said, eyes on the Animal Control officer, “what’s your name, Donna? Donna. Lieutenant Dean Winchester, local precinct. This here’s my brother Sam. We just wanna get this dog off the streets. My friend Cas here—” he thumbed towards Castiel, “he’s taken a real shine to this mutt. Can’t say I share the love, but feelings aside, how do we get the thing to a good home, fast, without any trouble?”

Donna’s hand slipped into Davies’ and squeezed; Castiel noticed how Dean’s eyes followed the movement.

“Well,” Donna said, blowing a tuft of her blonde hair back off her face, “as the law of the land goes, if ya find yourself a stray dog, the pup either goes back to the owner – if you know who it is, obvsies – or to the animal shelter right around where the dog was found. And that’d be me, yours truly.”

“Animal Control – that’s like dog jail, right?” Sam said worriedly.

Donna chortled. “Not as harsh as all that. But sure, any pup would be better off with a family, rather than with us. We provide the basics, but it’s not as good as a real home. Lost dogs have always been through a _bunch_ more trouble than they deserve. They need a nice warm bed, lots of food, and love, and cuddles.”

Castiel felt a swirl of warmth in his belly. He distinctly remembered Dean promising _him_ those exact things, not too long ago.

Donna purred as Mick wrapped his arms around her soft middle, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Hey, go easy, sugar, there’s at least three donuts in there.”

“Hmm, didn’t save any for me?” Mick mumbled in her ear.

Donna hushed him, whispering against his lips, “After work.”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically – this _despite_ the talk of donuts, which he loved. Castiel shot him a cross look, and Dean’s face promptly settled into a neutral, slightly chided expression.

“I’ll tell ya somethin’,” Donna said matter-of-factly, trying to somehow maintain her professionalism despite her fiance staying wrapped around her, rocking her from foot to foot, “Usual procedure is for me to take the dog away in the back of my truck, keep it in lockup six days or more, waitin’ on an owner to show up. We’ll have it take a test to check it has a safe temperament – not gonna bite any babies, stuff like that – and if it passes, we’ll put it up for adoption or re-homing— Honeybunch, I can’t hear myself speak with all the ear smooches.”

“So sorry, noodle-poodle,” Dr. Davies said, resting his chin on Donna’s shoulder marks. He shut his eyes; he seemed perfectly content where he was.

Dean, however, looked very much like he was resisting the urge to puke. Castiel was growing more irritated with him by the minute; he felt the frown denting his forehead now.

“As I was saying,” Donna went on, apparently oblivious to Dean’s turmoil, “Given the amount of things your average pup needs, the animal shelter sometimes falls short. Public policy dictates – depending on your state of residence, mind – that anyone who chances upon a lost pup can go right ahead and look after it until – or _if_ – the owner’s found. Some states even pay ya to look after ‘em, but not here.”

“So what can we do?” Sam asked. “If this dog ever had an owner, it’s not likely they’ll show up. The dog’s been living under a bridge for at least a full month.”

“Well, wee Snuffly McSnifferson down there deserves a proper _forever home_ , ya know? Animal Control officer or not, I’d hate to take the pup away from three fellas who clearly fell madly in love with her.” She looked pointedly at Dean. “If you’re up for it, there’s ain’t a problem with all’ve yous taking her home, so long as you have her registered A-sap, and get her that shiny new dog tag she needs.”

A muscle flickered in Dean’s face, up near his ear. Castiel’s stomach acid curdled in dread. He fully expected Dean to demand that Donna take the dog away forever, and take the unprofessional public displays of affection right with them. Castiel would completely understand, too; Dean and Sam never considered they’d have to take care of _him_ , let alone a dog. This had to be the cusp of goodbye. Even the dog sensed the room’s tension; she lay down, giving a little nasal whine, licking at her lips and yawning.

But Dean, as he had many times before, surprised Castiel.

His eyes softened, and his shoulders went slack. He turned his gaze to Castiel, and said, “Cas? You wanna keep her?” His eyes lowered, and he watched his own hand swing to take Castiel’s. “Beautiful dog for a beautiful person, right?” He looked up again, sweetness in his eyes.

Castiel’s lips parted. He was so stunned that he couldn’t remember how to speak.

“C’mon, angel, tell ‘em what you want,” Dean insisted, clearly forcing himself to use a term of endearment despite his furious blush. “Tell them if you wanna keep her. You do want to, right?”

Still dumbfounded, Castiel turned to the vet, and the Animal Control officer wrapped in his arms. Castiel nodded. “Y-Yes please.”

Donna’s face split into a smile, while Dr. Davies hum-hum-hummed a laugh, squeezing his fiancee’s middle again, making her hiccup.

Dean let out a chuckle. Castiel watched his face, interested to see great relief there. How long had he been waiting to show his affection in front of other people? Now he’d done it, it seemed too easy: he went up to Castiel and warmed his neck with his hands, gazing into his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel managed.

Dean quirked up a grin. “You deserve it, Cas.” And he kissed Castiel right then, right there, right on the lips.

Castiel _melted_.

The dog scampered up on her feet and jumped, pawing at their jeans, _boof_ ing in excitement. Dean broke the kiss to look down, and he grinned. “Oh, you want in?”

The dog panted on Castiel’s hand, nosing him into petting her. Castiel grinned, loving the feeling of stiff furry ears under his fingertips, dirty fur under his palm. When he turned his face to Dean again, he felt his heart soar. Dean was smiling so widely there was no texture left in his lips; he had happy wrinkles beside his eyes, and every freckle was stretched.

Castiel shut his eyes and kissed Dean again. “‘M love youmm,” he mumbled against him.

Dean was blushing so hot that Castiel could feel his searing heat. But he also felt Dean turn his head, hands in Castiel’s hair, breaking the kiss just to whisper, “You too, Cas. Always.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“Wait wait wait,” Sam said sternly, grabbing Castiel by the arm, keeping him from entering their apartment. “The dog goes in last. Otherwise she’ll think she outranks us. Dean, you first – my hands are full.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, that’s right, baby,” he jeered at the dog, “ _I’m_ the alpha male around here.”

Sam shot Castiel a dull look, making Castiel smirk.

“Now Cas,” Sam said, taking the leash from him. “Ooof,” he added, crumpling a little under the weight of dog food.

Sam was surprised when the leash was taken back. “It’s your apartment,” Castiel said, just visible past the edge of the dog food bags. He suddenly became more visible: Castiel relieved Sam of a bag. “Go on.”

Sam edged around the dog, his back to the front door. He gave Castiel a grateful smile before going through.

Castiel navigated the dog too, who was all too eager to get inside. She whined and pawed forwards, but Castiel’s strong grip kept her back.

“Now you,” Castiel said at last, and the dog rushed in, nose snuffling along the carpet.

“She needs a name,” Sam said, taking the dog food from Castiel, going to put it in the kitchen while Castiel closed the front door. “We can’t just keep calling her ‘the dog’.”

“She also needs a _bath_ ,” Dean grumbled, while he went around the living room, turning on the lampshades to light the room with spots of warm gold. “Look at that. Pawprints— Cas, get her outta the kitchen!”

Castiel hurried to grab the dog’s trailing leash, which was only semi-effective as she still had no collar, and he didn’t want to choke her. With a heave of exertion and a few encouraging words, he pushed her back onto the carpet.

Dean stormed up to the kitchen island that stuck out from the wall, snatching up the pet store collar. “Put this on her. She’s dragging that thing around like she escaped a noose.”

Now slightly out of puff, Castiel went to retrieve the collar. It was fake leather with silver studs: Dean’s choice. Sam recalled him muttering something along the lines of “ _If she’s living in our apartment she might as well match the decor,_ ” before choosing a collar that matched exactly zero things they owned.

“Bath first,” Sam warned, taking the collar and putting it back down. “God knows what colour she really is under all the dirt.”

“That’s your department,” Dean said, hands up, one finger wiggling between Sam and Castiel. “Me, I’m makin’ dinner. Pasta?”

“And chicken,” Sam said, rummaging through the pet shop bags to find the dog shampoo.

“With Dean’s special tomato sauce?” Castiel requested hopefully.

Dean shot him a sweet smile. “You _do_ dig that, huh? One look at your face and I thought I’d poisoned you.”

“It was flavoursome,” Castiel said bluntly. “New flavours make me squinty.”

“ _OOF!_ ” barked the dog.

“Sh-sh-sh,” Sam said, crouching beside her. “ _You_ get real dog food tonight. We’re gonna fatten you up, make your fur shine again – like we did with Cas. Come on,” he added, scruffing her ears, then standing up, shooting Castiel a glance. “Time for a bath.”

Castiel kicked off his boots – and finally shed his trenchcoat, giving it to Dean, who tossed it onto the couch arm. Castiel followed paces behind Sam and the dog, rolling up his shirt sleeves in a preparatory way.

Sam turned on the bathroom light, illuminating a space only wide enough for the full-size bath at the end, and only long enough for a toilet right beside the bath, then a hand basin with a built-in cupboard below it, plus a mirrored medicine cabinet above. Taking one look at the room, the dog shot out of Sam’s grip and bounded to the bath – _leapt_ in with a scrabble of claws and a bat of her tail – then turned around, panting, looking expectant.

“She definitely had owners before,” Sam said, feeling oddly grim. “Wonder what happened to them...”

Castiel knelt beside the bathtub, knees on the soft mat. “Maybe they gave her up.”

“Or died,” Sam pondered, eyebrows up. “We found her on the bad side of town, remember. Anything might’ve happened.” He reached for the bath’s loose showerhead connection, a flexing metal hose extending from the wall. Kneeling beside Castiel, he held a hand below the showerhead, directing its sprinkling flow against the base of the tub. The water wasn’t warm enough yet, but even where the trickles bypassed the dog’s paws, smears of dirt were carried away down the plughole.

“Alright,” Sam said, looking the dog in the eye. “You’re going to be a good dog, aren’t you? Sit still?”

Castiel smiled. “Yes,” he said, giving his dog’s cheek an affectionate stroke. “She likes baths. Don’t you?”

The dog looked at Castiel with a bit too much affirmation. This animal clearly loved Castiel already. Sam looked between them, wondering when they’d had time to bond so deeply. Maybe in a past life, he joked to himself.

Starting from the paws upward, Sam gave the dog a good rinse, increasing the shower’s flow as he got to the thicker fur. Some fur was matted with dirt, and Castiel busied himself with a pet comb and a pair of baby scissors they usually used for toenails, cutting away the gross bits.

Throughout all of this, the dog sat patiently, panting hot breath on their chests, smiling widely. Her odd blue-brown eyes both shone with pleasure; she clearly adored the attention and care she was getting after so long.

Eventually Sam could work in the shampoo, making sure to keep it away from the dog’s eyes. It lathered up in fine white bubbles, turning foamy, giving the dog an audible crackle as the bubbles slowly popped by the hundred.

Now Castiel rinsed her down, giving her forehead little kisses, muttering nonsense as he did.

“I think I always wanted a dog,” Castiel said, smiling, sitting back on his heels as Sam took over.

“You never had a pet?” Sam asked, glancing at him curiously. “I thought your parents gave you anything you wanted.”

Castiel shrugged with his lower lip. “They gave me what they thought I _ought_ to want. The latest gadget. New fashion. I had a _robotic_ dog.”

“Huh,” Sam breathed, with a bewildered smile.

“I... I always feel guilty... hearing you or Dean talk about how you never had those things. I had the luxuries, the extraneous items. And the necessities, of course – food, water, a nanny when I was little...” He hesitated when Sam laughed. “You didn’t have those things, did you?”

Sam smiled, eyes on the dog, shaking his head. “Not even the food, sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel sighed. “I would’ve given everything away, if I’d had any friends to give it to.”

Under the weight of those words, they worked in silence for a while.

Then Castiel took a breath, and said, quietly, “Dean was right. This was the right path for me. The mistakes I made, the mountain of debt, working in the brothel, getting knocked out under a bridge. All of it.”

Sam looked at him for a moment, showing he was listening.

Castiel swallowed, and went on, “I needed to fall from grace. I needed to lose everything. I needed to be without it, to know what it’s like to have nothing for a long time. It wouldn’t be enough to simply empathise with you, or to claim I understand. If I didn’t know, intimately, how it feels to _struggle_ , I don’t think Dean would’ve wanted anything to do with me. Not that first night, and not now. We could’ve met some other way, somewhere else, and he wouldn’t have given me a second look. I would’ve been a pompous prick with compulsion issues to him, nothing more.”

Sam washed the last of the soap bubbles down the drain, then reached to hang the showerhead over the bath’s protruding faucet. He didn’t agree with Castiel personally, but there was no ‘wrong’ way to feel; Castiel needed the chance to express how he interpreted his trauma. So Sam continued to listen, saying nothing.

“There’s plenty I’ve wished I had the power to change,” Castiel nodded, subdued as he looked his dog in the eye. “Rewrite my own history. There’s so much I never wanted to happen. Yes, I can say I once had it easy, or I can say I’ve had it both ways. But from childhood until now, I’ve been through a lot, Sam.” He paused, then nodded, pain in his expression. “An _awful_ lot. But—?” He turned his tearful eyes to Sam, his lips trembling and voice thick as he admitted, “I wouldn’t change it. Not one part. Not if every mistake and every hurt led me to become a person Dean can love so easily. Not if changing my past would change my chances of meeting you, becoming your friend, and being able to appreciate the _value_ of that. And...”

His smile shivered, eyes falling to his sopping wet, now patchy-furred dog, who nosed into his hand as he petted her. “I’d change nothing, if everything I’ve been through makes me able to see this _beast_ as beautiful. Under the scars, the abandonment, the starvation, the loss. She’s like me, Sam. She’s just like me. And she’s _beautiful_.”

Castiel’s smile grew.

He shut his eyes, and he wept with his face buried in his dog’s fur, arms around her shoulders. Sam smiled, misty-eyed, one hand rubbing on Castiel’s back.

Hearing a shuffle from the bathroom door, Sam turned to look over his shoulder.

Dean stood there, eyes on Castiel. He’d heard. Sam could see in his expression that he’d heard every word.

Gulping, Dean turned his eyes to Sam. He managed a flick of a smile, raising a folded towel, gripped in one hand. “I, uh. Brought you somethin’ to dry her – y’know if you’re done— Wait, no— Dog, stay!”

Now out of the bath – “Dog, _stay_!” – the dog trotted across the tiles – “STAY!” – and paused in front of Dean to _shake_ — “Whoa-wh-WHOA—!” A massive spray of water flashed against the bathroom walls, spilling down the mirror in rivulets, making the lightbulb in the ceiling flicker. Dean un-screwed up his face, nose still wrinkled. He lowered his shielding towel, exhaling in semi-annoyance.

“Beastie,” Dean said, bowing to wrap the dog in the towel, rubbing her down and making her squirm. “That’s what we oughta call you. Little monster.”

“I figured we could name her ‘Biscuit’,” Sam said, turning around to lean back against the bath. “That was what the parrot at the vet called her.”

“Bird was probably repeating its own damn name,” Dean said gruffly, scrubbing the towel on the dog’s head, making her ears bend outward, upward, outward, upward, flapping like stiff triangular wings.

Sam looked to Castiel. “Cas? She’s your dog, what do you want to name her?”

Castiel sniffed, hastily wiping his eyes. “Uh?” He shook his head. “Um. I don’t know.” He sniffed again.

“Somethin’ badass,” Dean said, knocked aside as the dog barreled past him, on her way to the living room. “Gotta measure up to that awesome collar we got her, right?”

Sam got to his feet, offering Castiel a hand. Castiel let Sam pull him up, then wiped his bathwater-wet face on his shirtsleeve.

“We should call her something intelligent,” Sam said, glancing at the mess in the bath and deciding to clean it later. “She’s clearly smarter than some people.”

Castiel laughed, leading Dean out of the bathroom. Sam brought up the rear, turning off the bathroom light.

“Something sweet,” Castiel said, quietly, heading into the living room, where the dog was sniffing around, head buried between the folds of the curtains, tail wagging so hard it whipped a line of water across the TV screen every time. “She looks terrifying, but she’s... protective. And warmhearted.”

Castiel knelt in the middle of the living room, hands patting his knees twice. “Here, doggy! Come!”

The dog backed out of the curtains, turning around and bounding to Castiel, panting in his face, paws on his thighs, grumbling happily as Cas gave her a big rubby hug, chuckling as he did. “Good girl. Good doggy.”

Again Castiel nodded. “What do we name a badass, intelligent sweetheart?” He considered her for a moment, then said, “Genie. Because she’s a wish come true.”

Dean pulled a face. “She’s all that and more, Cas, but she ain’t magic.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that,” Castiel said serenely, smiling as the dog rolled onto her back, wanting a belly rub, which Castiel provided. “She saved my life. She came out of nowhere – she answered my prayer. My wish... I was so scared...” Castiel tilted his head, looking at his dog, then looking at Dean, who came to kneel beside them. “She was fearless. Those people intended to hurt me terribly, and she put herself in harm’s way so I’d be safe.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Sam chuckled, sitting down with the others, his back to the couch. He looked knowingly at Dean.

Dean blinked and turned his eyes back to the dog. “She’s both of us,” Dean smiled. “Perfect balance of my... protectiveness – whatever you wanna call it – and Cas’ vulnerability. Right?”

Castiel agreed. “Yes.”

“Non timebo mala,” Sam smiled. “Like Dean’s tattoo. I will fear no evil.”

“Mala?” Dean suggested.

Sam screwed up his face. “That means ‘evil’, Dean, you can’t call her that. She’s a giant black ball of fluffy sunshine. Timebo, maybe.”

“Too long,” Dean shook his head. “Needs to be short, one or two syllables. We’re gonna be shouting this mutt’s name down the street at two a.m. someday, gotta be something that won’t make us tongue-tied. Or cringe our faces off.”

Castiel’s mouth moved as he thought quickly, searching for shortened versions of the Latin phrase. “ _Non timebo mala, non... ti... mebo... mala—_ ”

Just as he lit up, knowing the answer, Dean lifted his head, as did Sam.

As a trio, they said, “Mebo.”

The dog _orf_ ed, looking pleased.

“Two ‘E’s,” Castiel said sternly. “So it’s said how it’s spelled. I’ve lived a lifetime of people writing my name with a ‘K’ when they hear it, or pronouncing it ‘Cas-tile’ when they see it written down, and I won’t let it happen to her. She’s not Maybo, or Mebbo, or Mibbo. She’s _Mee_ bo.”

Dean gave Sam a sheepish look. “Urgh. I could see myself cringing an ear off, yelling that in a dog park. Nose, maybe. But... face in general is pretty much still intact – uhff, fine, I’ll take it. Cruddy Latin pronunciation and all.”

Castiel laughed, squishing his dog’s soft jowls between loving hands. “Hello, Meebo.”

Dean ducked his head, hiding a grin. “Hey, uh...” He reached into the pocket of his jeans, fingers scraping to grab something. “Picked this up at the pet store. Figured— I dunno.” He pulled it out, showing it to Castiel. It was a bow tie, presumably meant for dogs.

Castiel took it with a delighted smile.

“She’s gonna look super fancy, with the collar – and her tags, when we get them on.” Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Figured we could make a good thing better.”

Castiel sighed in satisfaction, but his eyes remained wary, set on Dean. “You’re okay letting her stay, then?”

Dean scoffed. “Cas, if I wasn’t, you think I’d let her _in_ here? C’mon. Whose address is on her microchip? Whose contact info is gonna be on the tags, huh? Sure as hell ain’t gonna be Mr. Castiel Potter, Cupboard at the Back of the Gas-N-Sip. Forget the apartment – we’re gonna move out someday. _This_ is her forever home. With _us_.” He gave Meebo’s head a pat-pat-pat, and didn’t even flinch when she licked him. (He only screwed up his face in disgust a _little_ bit.)

Castiel looked baffled for a moment. His eyes went to Sam. “But... you said she’s _my_ dog?”

Sam nodded, because of course.

Castiel still looked confused. “But if her forever home is with _all_ of us...?”

The room went quiet for a second.

Castiel inhaled. “Oh. This is _my_ forever home... too.”

Dean and Sam caught each other’s eye and laughed, nodding.

Dean reached to touch Castiel’s shoulder, hand straying to caress his neck. “Yeah, Cas,” he said gently. “Forever ‘n ever, if you want. We’re family now.”

Castiel seemed to light up from inside, his demeanour changing in a big way; he appeared to glow with delight and confidence, more brightly than Sam had ever seen. Something transformed within him. His eyes gleamed with tears of joy, his mouth lifted in a lopsided, shaky smile.

Right that moment, Sam saw it; Dean saw it; Castiel must’ve known it. Even Meebo let out a little howl in celebration, for Castiel had been made the happiest person on Earth.

After a moment, he had to look down, pushing a tear from his cheek with the heel of his hand. His smile stayed.


	10. Talk About It Like Adults

“Caffeinate up, everybody, we’ve got a long Monday ahead of us! Those Yellow-Eyed demons aren’t going to turn themselves in.” Captain Mills gave a firm clap of her hands. “To work! Bzzz!”

With a rumble of laughter, then a slow dispersal of tough shoes on lacquered forest-green floor tiles, the precinct’s bullpen returned to its usual ambience of shifting paper, ringing phones, and the gentle muttering of deep voices.

Dean Winchester lingered by the whiteboard, one hand fiddling with his gun sling as he watched the captain flip the board and erase the back.

“Speak already, kid, you’re burning daylight,” the captain said, without turning.

Dean gulped. “C- Could we, uh... talk somewhere private?”

Captain Mills’ grey hair remained stiff as she turned back to peer at Dean. “My office,” she said, gesturing in that direction. Dean went ahead, but stayed back at the last moment, allowing the captain to enter first.

Dean shut the door behind them, making sure it clicked. He exhaled, more at ease in the quiet, but he dared not become comfortable.

The captain’s stern eyes gave him a once-over. “What’s this about, Lieutenant?”

Taking a chair, sitting in it, Dean clasped his hands together between his knees, head down. Jody leant against the front of her desk, fingers tapping against the ridge.

“It’s – about the case,” Dean said, with tension tight in his chest. “Sort of. Not really. But also it is—”

“Spit it out, Dean,” Jody said, gentle now. 

Dean pushed a lungful of air between his narrowed lips. “James Novak,” he said. “The one sex worker from Spank I told you I couldn’t track down.”

“What about him?”

“Jimmy,” Dean said, eyes on the toes of Jody’s scratched boots.

Dean’s hands clenched tighter. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Jody shifted, no stranger to seeing Dean choked up and nervous. “C’mon,” she said with an audible smile. She reached down and batted at Dean’s shoulder. “You want to go off the record? I’m listening.”

Dean pursed his lips, debating giving a shake of his head.

But he nodded. “Off the record.”

Jody waited.

Dean couldn’t speak.

Lips pulling into a smile, Jody guessed, “He a friend of yours? This Jimmy Novak?”

Dean hesitated, but nodded. “You could say that.”

“...Close friend?” Jody said, eyes narrowing.

Dean gulped.

Jody’s eyebrows rose, lips parting. She understood now. “Your boyfriend. The one you took sick leave to look after. The one you wouldn’t talk to me about when you got back.”

Dean’s sudden poker face must’ve been a dead giveaway. Now Jody exhaled, wavering back against her desk before pushing off it. “Jimmy Novak. He’s a sex worker. That’s why he’s ‘paranoid’ about being arrested.”

“He’s between jobs right now,” Dean said, eyes lowering. “Whatever he was—” Lips licked, Dean finished, “he’s ain’t it any more.”

Jody bent beside Dean, one hand on his shoulder. “Dean—”

“I have evidence,” Dean said quickly, before his captain could reiterate his lawlessness. “Here. Pulled this out of his P.O. box Friday evening.” He pulled a half-torn envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans. “The Yellow-Eyes. They had him bent and broken in their toothy maw, alright, he didn’t get into sex work for the thrill of it. He’s not a criminal, Jody, he’s a witness. A victim.”

Jody held Dean’s eye for quite some time, calculating, before she even moved to take the envelope. When she stood, eyes on the prize, Dean relaxed a little.

“He’s been through a lot,” Dean breathed. “His parents died in a plane crash when he was eighteen. Since then he’s struggled through more than anyone ought to go through. He’s— He’s more than a victim, now.” Tremors of distress and a solid sensation of second-hand _gall_ struck through Dean as he declared, “He’s a survivor.” A determined smile lifted to his lips. “He made it through in one piece. And he’s still goin’ strong.”

“Cas-tiel,” Jody said quietly, eyes on the letter pulled from Cas’ P.O. box. “So that _is_ his real name.”

“I call him Cas,” Dean smiled. “He’s, uh...” Now he couldn’t help the grin that flittered across his face, playing sunlight over his insides. “He’s the sweetest god-damn creature you could ever meet, Jody. We just adopted a dog, right—? And we got the mutt this novelty bow-tie, and – I’m not kidding – Cas put the thing on the dog’s head like freaking Minnie Mouse. Oh my God.” Dean snickered, a hand over his eyes. “He asked me to take a photo— Here, lemme show you.”

Dean stood up, taking his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and tapping around to locate the photos. He showed Jody with a huge grin. “That’s him next to Sam. He squints like that all the time – God, he’s such a weird... dorky little guy. And that’s our dog. Meebo. Like _non timebo mala_.”

Jody, though stunned at Dean’s unusually enthused demeanor, gave a smile. “You call that black smudge a dog?”

Dean snorted. “I know, right?” He looked at the phone screen, where his own face stared back, a crinkle-eyed smile matching Sam’s, their faces crowded beside Castiel and a blurry black nothingness with a bit of shine for a nose. “She probably blinked. She’s got one brown eye and one blue-brown eye, it’s super freaky. And kinda cool.” 

Jody sighed, a fond twinkle in her eyes. But she couldn’t smile, and Dean forced himself to sober up, knowing his captain’s response wasn’t going to be easy to hear.

“You’re lucky,” Jody said.

Dean pretended not to be surprised. “Oh?” he said carefully, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“If you hadn’t handed me this,” Jody batted the envelope on her palm, “I would’ve had your boyfriend in lock-up overnight. And there’d be a helluva lot of questions directed at you, regarding why you’re apparently harbouring a person of interest in a current high-profile case without having notified anyone. And why you adopted a fluffy demonic hellhound with him.”

“Lucky,” Dean smirked. “How ‘bout we call it what it is: _smart_?” He clicked his cheek on his teeth, one finger tapping the side of his head and nodding.

Jody hummed, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “You’re not wrong.” Her smile was hidden badly; it shone in her gaze anyway. “You’re one of my best officers, Dean. More than a little wayward when it comes to procedure, but you do good work, and you treat _people_ right. Gotta say, it would be a damn shame to lose you over a misunderstanding.”

The tip of Dean’s tongue rested on his bottom lip, swiping slowly before retreating. “Uh. Okay. What... d’you mean... by that, exactly?”

Jody raised her eyebrows. “Well, from where I’m sitting – if someone wasn’t paying attention – it might _look_ as though you first met your scruffy-haired partner on a certain outing to a certain nightclub. And, yeah, okay, while it’s true you weren’t on duty that night, there’s no need to mention you _know_ damn well it’s illegal to solicit anything from a sex worker, and even worse if you’re a cop.”

Dean wore his poker face like a mask. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Oh, of course you know,” Jody rumbled, eyes crinkling. “Like I said, thinking anything else would be a _gross_ misinterpretation of your personality. What was that ever-so-catchy, sliiiightly revolting phrase you were so fond of, hm? No cash for ass?”

Dean gulped, chin lowered. “Yeah. Yeah, that was it.”

“Mm.” Jody’s eyes stayed on Dean, though he couldn’t look back. “All I’m saying is, Lieutenant, I see what must’ve happened. You were privy to information regarding this Cas-tiel. You knew he was a witness in our case against the Yellow-Eyes, and, like the good, kind, empathetic officer you are, decided to take him out of harm’s way to save him undue stress and subsequent arrest. Obviously you offered shelter on the grounds that he testify later. Aaand... as we officers often do with those under our protection, you developed a friendship... which developed into a very close, intimate bond... Am I hitting the mark here?”

Dean gulped again, turning away. He hated that Jody’s version wasn’t the real story. It made more sense. It erased the weakness and wrongdoing from his decision to save Cas, and knowing it _wasn’t_ what happened made reality into a sickening truth that horrified Dean. All the warmth and love that radiated from Cas had left a pleasant gloss over their first night together: Dean realised, more potently than ever, that Castiel had not been in a position to offer his complete consent. Worse than the thought of jail, Dean dreaded the idea that he’d used Cas. He’d asked for selfish things from a bound man, not realising the bindings were invisible.

“Dean?” Jody placed a warm hand on Dean’s arm.

Dean turned his wretched eyes to her. “It didn’t happen like that,” he rasped. Guilty, he gazed at Jody’s kinder heart, wishing she had the power to undo his mistake.

“Perhaps it didn’t,” Jody said softly. She touched Dean’s head, caressing him like a mother would. “We all have weak moments, Dean. Come on, I was the one who asked Abbie to invite you out that night. I knew you were desperately lonely. But I thought you’d dance with someone in the crowd, not sneak out the back. Can’t say I’m not hugely, _hugely_ disappointed in you, kid, but... heck, I’m not surprised, am I? On the upside,” she patted below his ear, “you found someone. I know you’ve kept him safe to the best of your ability. I _know_ you have.”

Dean looked at her sullenly.

“Get him to testify,” Jody said, stepping back, letting her hand slip from contact. As she walked back behind her desk, she added, “If Castiel can help bring the Yellow-Eyes to justice, he’ll walk, no problem. As for you—” She took a sharp breath, eyes holding Dean’s for a long moment. Finally she looked down. “For the official record: I only heard one story, and it involved you falling for a witness who is now under police protection. Anything else is pure hearsay. Now scoot.”

Lips parting, Dean gazed at her unsurely.

She softened for one more moment. “You weren’t aware he was working under duress, Dean,” she reminded him, eyes wandering before they met Dean’s. “Make sure he knows.”

They stared.

At last, Dean nodded. “Thanks, Jody.” He stepped back, hand reaching for the door. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

Dean made sure the door clicked shut on his way out.

• · • · ♥ · • · •

_EXT. ABANDONED CONSTRUCTION SITE BELOW OVERPASS. (DAY)_

_A pleasant afternoon in early fall. Sunlight filters through the trees, sparkling off a dozen haphazardly-parked cars. Youths lounge upon the graffitied hoods of their stolen vehicles, sharing a badly-rolled joint. In the distance: sirens._

_CASTIEL enters stage right. He is dressed in HOLEY BLACK T-SHIRT, RIPPED JEANS, and UNLACED BOOTS. (Laughter)_

_(More laughter)_

_CASTIEL: hSJKSHAHDSFjfjgjg **[sex]** sklfjdkfkfdgkkfjf DJFDG **[sadness]**_

_(laughter laughter laughter, echoing through the empty abyss)_

_DOG enters from stage left. It is BIG and BLACK and HUNGRY. It licks three people and a car, then lies down and looks SAD._

_CASTIEL approaches with caution._

_CASTIEL: Hello. Do you want some food? I have a fried CHICKEN._

_CASTIEL produces a live CHICKEN from his pocket. It has been fried. It clucks apathetically._

_DOG eats the CHICKEN without harming it, because that would be Too Upsetting._

_DOG is HAPPY._

_CASTIEL is now friends with DOG._

_(Laughter abates)_

_The void widens to encompass the OVERPASS, then DOG, then CASTIEL. (FADE OUT.)_

Castiel woke with a soft gasp, stiff-bodied in the bed. He panted for a moment, disoriented. He shifted a foot, relieved to feel Dean beside him. In his sleep, Dean murmured, shifting slightly, making the sheets whisper.

In the distance: sirens.

Castiel gulped, shutting his eyes tight, then opening them again. For a dream, the images and sensations flashing in his mind seemed suspiciously familiar. He curled his hand, still feeling dirty dog fur between his fingers...

A memory.

Staring into the darkness, Castiel felt days – _weeks_ of garbled recollections pile into him. Rough blowjobs, hands gripping his hair too tight, choking on a loose condom, a false smile – and a dog, a dog, a _dog_ , a hungry dog who Castiel fed from his hand, for whom he gave up his precious money to buy pet food, wanting to gain its trust. Every night he’d lingered in the dangerous hours after nightfall so the dog wouldn’t be lonely, wouldn’t be hurt—

Tears sprang to Castiel’s eyes, drowning in mixed emotions. He was grateful he remembered meeting Meebo, but he wished the memory didn’t come with a half-dozen assaults and a time of hunger he’d comfortably forgotten.

He’d forget again, soon. He always did. That was how he coped.

But there was one part he didn’t want to forget. He focused on Meebo, once a stranger. He relived the joyous sight of her licking crumbs from his hand – and before that, creeping forward to gently bite some fried chicken before retreating with it in her mouth, afraid.

Meebo had been hurt by people, just like Castiel. Too many people. The pair of them were kindred spirits, really.

Dean murmured, stretching his body against Castiel. A warm hand slipped to hold Castiel’s chest, and Dean gave a purr of satisfaction.

Castiel snuggled closer, smiling through his tears. He breathed Dean’s comforting scent, and was soothed. He tried to let go of his trauma, knowing it was exactly that. _Trauma_.

Tomorrow he would talk to Sam. Tell him about everything he remembered, if he still remembered it by then. Then he’d tell Sam how he planned to cope, and move on, and use his anger to fuel him, and appreciate the quiet, safe moments even more. Maybe they’d discuss again how to help other sex workers who wanted to escape the dead-end life. Talking to Sam always helped.

Dean squirmed in his sleep. “Mh,” he complained.

“I’m awake,” Castiel breathed, in case Dean was too.

But Dean smacked his lips clumsily, whimpering as he pushed closer to Castiel. Spikes of alarm shot through Castiel as he felt a recognisable pressure against his hip: Dean had an erection.

Castiel began to breathe uneasily. His eyes darted to the closed door of the bedroom, seeing the faintest light from the living area; a lamp was left on so nobody tripped over Meebo in the dark.

“MmmnnhhCasss,” Dean murmured, hips rolling against Castiel. “Hhhhhmmm.”

Castiel was fully tense now. He didn’t know what to do. He felt a stir of arousal, yes, but Dean wasn’t awake, and Cas didn’t want to have sex.

Heartbeat too hard. Palms sweating. Anxiety grew louder and louder and louder inside him.

“Mmm,” Dean pleaded, properly humping against Castiel now. He shifted, giving soft nudges, soft sighs of pleasure. “Cas... Caa-hs...”

Castiel couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He eased closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one foot to the carpet. He got all the way out from under the comforter before he sat up, then stood up on trembling legs.

He wanted to cry. He wanted a cuddle, and he wanted Dean to be satisfied, but he felt... _bad_. Wrong. Dirty.

He left the bedroom silently, pulse jumping like he’d been running. He shut the door behind him, letting out a breath of relief.

Glancing around, he saw Meebo lying on the couch, lifting her head as she woke. “ _Fwee?_ ” she asked.

“Can’t sleep,” Castiel lied. He lowered his eyes and padded to the bathroom.

When he returned a handful of minutes later, he hesitated, one hand on the bedroom door handle. Maybe Dean had gotten his release by now...

Even so, he turned away. He went to the couch, moving some books aside so he could pick up the huge knitted blanket that was draped across the seat. Meebo was lying on one corner, holding it down, so Castiel snuck under the other side, arranging the cover around him.

He yawned, one hand stretching to scritch-scritch-scritch at Meebo’s scarred ears. “You remembered me,” he said to her, full of gratitude. “That’s why you protected me, wasn’t it? I fed you. And I was nice to you. I’d forgotten. The concussion must’ve knocked it out of me.”

Meebo sank her chin down on her paws, looking up at Castiel with her eyebrows raised. “ _Swee,_ ” she whistled.

Castiel smiled. “Good dog. I love you too.”

After a few minutes, Castiel reached for the TV remote with his toes. He picked it up, balanced it on his foot, then kicked it into his lap. He switched on the TV, switched the video input to the VHS player, and hit play on an episode of _Looney Tunes_ he’d been watching over lunch. He kept the volume low so he didn’t wake Sam or Dean.

He half-watched, half gave in to the mottled blurriness behind his eyes. Sleep lingered, and crept, but wouldn’t take him. He kept one hand in Meebo’s fur, comforted by her warmth.

After the ‘ _Abeh beh-beh beh-beh beh that’s all folks!_ ’ from the TV, announcing the end of the episode, Castiel bristled alert – Dean was leaving the bedroom.

Silent, Dean looked at Castiel, eyes guilty and puffy with fatigue. His overlarge t-shirt hung off one shoulder, and his legs were bare; he moved his mouth like he had something to say, but he shied away, turning for the bathroom.

Castiel forgot to watch the TV; he listened for Dean, every sense held in stasis, both dreading and eagerly awaiting his return.

Dean said nothing when he came back. He looked at Castiel softly, then went past, into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, pulled out two mugs. He poured a round of popcorn kernels into the popcorn maker, and turned it on, only then finding a bowl to shove under the spout. The popcorn maker’s hairdryer-like _vvvvvvvvvvvv_ drowned out the sound of the TV.

As the popcorn popped, Dean microwaved pre-steeped tea in two mugs. The room filled with the deafening hum of grey noise. As the volume didn’t waver, Sam was unlikely to wake.

Being the ‘expert of off-duty’ that he was, Dean carried the two mugs and the bowl of freshly-salted popcorn in one trip: one mug in each hand, bowl between his elbows, hugged warm to his chest.

“Beep beep,” he said, once beside Castiel. Castiel sighed witheringly, but squished up closer to Meebo. Meebo made no complaints; she rested her chin back down on Castiel’s thigh.

Castiel pulled up some blanket, and made it cover Dean’s lap.

Dean gave Castiel the popcorn. Castiel crammed an entire handful into his mouth, always finding an odd pleasure in being burned by smooth, round unpopped kernels. He crunched, and crunched, and accepted the tea Dean gave him.

“If this is your way of apologising for humping me, I’ll take it,” Castiel said, finding himself smiling without thinking about it.

Dean chuckled a single note. “I wondered if I did, with the dream I had.” After a pause: “Y... You know I didn’t mean to, don’t you.”

“Yeah.” Castiel blew on his tea to cool it. “You’re pent-up and sexually unfulfilled. I’m sure that kind of thing emerges in ways it wouldn’t otherwise.”

Dean blushed, staring into his tea. His eyes lifted to stare unseeingly at the TV.

Eventually, Dean’s extended silence became a form of communication. Castiel gazed at him, and asked, kindly, “What?”

Dean glanced down, again watching the steam rise from his mug. “I dunno if you wanna talk about difficult stuff right now.”

Castiel shrugged. “Depends what it is.”

Dean took a small breath. “Same thing. Just... iffy consent.”

Castiel lowered his mug from his lips, feeling worry churn in his belly. “What do you mean?”

“Um.” Dean’s thumb tapped the side of his mug a few times. “Look, I don’t wanna dredge up the riverbed again, I know there’s stuff down there you don’t wanna think about yet.”

After a moment of consideration, Castiel said, “I think I would like to talk to you about my experiences. Not everything, and not right now. But...” he breathed unsteadily, “I’ve been telling Sam about my time as a sex worker. It’s relieving for me. I don’t think I could be in a relationship with you, and not be free to speak about my past as openly with you as I do with Sam. There are so many things I want to tell you.”

When Dean listened openly, Castiel added, “I’m—” He struggled to think of a word.

Finally, he found it. “Scared. Scared you’d be... jealous. Or upset. Or disgusted by me, the things I’ve done with other people. Maybe you wouldn’t want to hear about it. Maybe you’d say you’re fine hearing about it, but... deep down...”

Dean reached to stroke Castiel’s hand with the backs of his knuckles. “Cas... dude, if I was the kind to get jealous, you think I’d hire a _sex worker_? Obviously you’ve slept around. C’mon, I’ve probably slept in half as many beds as you have. Doesn’t mean shit. And besides—” he scoffed, “I see and hear plenty of weird stuff doing my job, too. People are kinky, twisted motherfuckers. Ain’t a story you can tell that would be new to me, man. Not like my own search history is completely vanilla. Why d’you think I’d judge you?”

Somewhat relieved, Castiel replied, “A lot of what I think is based on what’s been whispered into my ears. You didn’t want to hear about other people when we met. I thought you’d feel the same way now.” He drank some more tea, sighing into the mug as its steam warmed his nose. His eyes followed the mug down as he lowered it. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d hate me. You’re as good of a listener as Sam is.”

The corner of Dean’s lips rose up. “What kind of thing d’you wanna share?”

Castiel sipped his drink once more, shrugging a shoulder. “Well... sometimes... it wasn’t the worst job in the world. Many of my clients were decent people... Like you, they just needed something they couldn’t get elsewhere, and I was fond of some of them...” He checked to see Dean’s reaction, and when he saw nothing adverse, only intrigue, Castiel continued, eyes cast low, “Occasionally I had fun, becoming Jimmy. Leaving my troubles behind, donning a personality that knows only love, and cares deeply for other people’s needs. Really, after talking with Sam, I’m starting to see the good in... even the most inelegant situations.

“Actually, there was—” Castiel smiled a little, unsure, “There was something I wanted to tell you. I practised it with Sam.”

“Yeah?” Dean raised his eyebrows, expectant.

Castiel took a breath, preparing himself. He glanced up at Dean, then down to his chest. “You were not my knight in shining armour. You did not ‘save’ me from my job. Instead, you were my knave of hearts. A pied-piper. You promised me a life better than what I knew, and you played a tune I could follow easily, and for that, I’m grateful. You showed me the path that led away; you did not pull me along it. You gave me the _choice_ to choose you.” He met Dean’s eyes, and spoke without the monotone mutter of rehearsed lines, just a simple, genuine, “Thank you.”

Dean’s mouth moved in silence, at a loss for a good reply.

In the end he smiled, and nodded, accepting Castiel’s view of him, not caring to dispute or change it. He’d take being a knave over being an asshole. Personally he thought he’d handled the situation a bit clumsily, all of them flying by the seat of their pants. Almost every day Dean worried that Cas would rather be elsewhere. But knowing Cas was grateful? Boom, that insecurity was blown out of the water.

But soon the shade of reality drew down over Dean’s sparkling eyes, and he sobered, licking his lips. “Look,” he said quietly, “I’d be happy to hear stories, if that’s what you wanna share, Cas. Your favourite clients... the worst ones, whatever. Bet there’s a ton of freaky, hilarious anecdotes we could all laugh over someday.” When Castiel smiled, Dean smirked back, but without joy. “You always see somethin’ good in me, Cas. And that kills me, man, ‘cause I’m a shitty human being, sometimes.”

“Oh, here we go,” Castiel drawled, in a joking away. He paused before he sipped his tea, and with compassion in his eyes, he asked, “What’s this about?”

Dean gulped. “Seriously, I don’t wanna dig into the hard stuff if you ain’t ready.”

“Keep it vague, then,” Castiel suggested.

Dean breathed in deeply. “Alright... Uh.” He ran his knuckles across his pricking forehead. “I’m... sorry. Again. For buying you out that first night, and leaving you after.”

Castiel made a derisive noise. “Dean—”

“Hear me out, okay. I fucked up. I’ve never done anything that irrational, short-sighted, selfish—” Dean’s head bumped the back of the couch as he sighed in annoyance. “Like you said, being pent-up and frustrated – romantically, I think, more than sexually – it comes out in stupid ways. I made a wrong decision that night, Cas. If my captain wasn’t looking out for me, turning a blind eye to certain fuckups... God.” Dean gazed worriedly at the carpet. “If she didn’t _know_ me, Cas... if she didn’t know me like her own son, I’d be dead meat. As is, Jody’s free pass means jack-squat, goin’ six rounds with the blur in my belly, and that voice in my head tellin’ me I raped you.”

Castiel coughed on his tea, swallowing too hot, too soon. “What!”

“You were under the control of the Yellow-Eyes,” Dean said bluntly. “You claim I gave you a choice. But you didn’t _choose_ sex work, you were forced into it, so where was the _choice_ when I asked you to sleep with me?”

“Dean, for _God’s_ sake—”

“Your word in a situation like that, Cas, there’s no way that’s a hundred percent. God, I should’ve known it before I even asked! I’ve heard so many horror stories at work, people thinkin’ a ‘whore’ doesn’t get a right to consent, ‘cause she’s getting paid. But when did a fistful of green _ever_ mean ‘yes’? How much consent can anyone really _give_ , if they’re working hand-to-mouth for money?

“I wish I hadn’t taken you to that motel, Cas.” Dean stared at Castiel with uncomfortable tears in his eyes. “I heard you telling Sam the other night, you’d do it all again, suffer every fuckin’ thing you ever went through, just for the relief of having safety at the end of it all. But me?” Dean grinned dangerously, eyes wild with unrecognisable fear. “I’d take it all back. I’d do it by the book, I’d have you arrested with the rest of your co-workers. You’d make it out fine— The letters in your inbox are enough to keep you outta trouble. That’s hard evidence, ‘cause we got intel on the people who send those letters, all their fake names and addresses.”

Castiel was too stunned to react outwardly. He felt himself trembling, hands clutched together on his lap.

Dean forced a breath through his nose, then he went on, “Look – if you’d been arrested back then, you wouldn’t have had to go it alone. Out there, under the bridge, for a whole _month_. Or even – even if I’d ‘fessed up – about my job, about the arrests at the club – I could’ve invited you home with me after our night together. I would’ve protected you. Even that would’ve been better. God knows why I let you go free. I hate myself for that, Cas. I let you get hurt. And I’m sorry.”

Now Castiel scowled, and he furiously wiped a tear from his cheek. “You bastard,” he snarled, shocking Dean into silence. “What good is it now, Dean? We can’t go back. There’s no changing _any_ thing.” He softened completely, anger falling away to anguish. “Yes, you made ‘mistakes’. But the result—! If you undid everything, Dean, I never would’ve had the chance to love you. And I never would’ve met Meebo.”

Castiel licked his salty lips, one hand scrunched in Meebo’s scruff. “I cared for her that whole month, Dean. Fed her. Took shelter with her. She licked my wounds when I got hurt. I bound her leg with a cloth when someone threw a lit cigarette at her. I only remembered tonight.”

With his sad eyes to Dean, Castiel declared, wholeheartedly: “Screw you, and your righteousness. Where are we if you cannot take me at my word? When I said ‘yes’ to you, I meant it. Everything I gave to you, I gave _willingly_. It breaks my heart that you would let my _joy_ at finding you become marred by your guilt. _Leave_ it, Dean. Leave the past where it is. It was what it was: we discovered a place of bliss within my Hell-on-Earth. I _would – not – change – it – for – the – world_. No, I didn’t _want_ to be hurt, not ever. But I’m so desperately trying to find the good amongst the bad. The good I’ve found is _irreplaceable_. And I _beg_ that you—” A shuddered breath, a difficult smile. “I beg that you can see it how I saw it. We made love. We made _love_ , Dean. We _created_ it from hatred and hurt, and it _stayed_.”

Dean only stared. His eyes didn’t move, not even to watch a tear fall from Castiel’s lashes.

Castiel sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, smelling dog fur on his fingers. “I won’t accept this particular apology,” he said, looking Dean in the eyes. “I know you can’t help it, you just want to be _good_ – but you have _nothing_ to apologise for. Acknowledge that sorry voice in your head, then tell it to go fuck itself.”

Dean laughed in surprise, almost spilling his tea. He quickly stilled, going quiet and contemplative.

After a moment, he nodded. “Go fuck yourself.”

Castiel smiled, squeezing out his last tears, then pushing them from his cheeks.

Dean breathed out, taking some popcorn in an attempt to normalise the moment. He held onto his handful, staring at it. “You gotta give an official statement,” he said, thick-voiced. “And testify against Eve and the Yellow-Eyes. Go up in court in a few months, tell the judge how it happened, how you got pulled into the sex trade. Under oath. It’s gonna be hard.”

“I’ll do it,” Castiel promised, eating some popcorn so Dean wouldn’t feel obliged to hold off eating his. “If it’ll help stop the Yellow-Eyes doing the same to someone else, I’ll do it.”

Without warning, Dean shifted on the couch. But he hesitated, poised tense, not quite leaning on Castiel’s side. “Cas?”

“Hm?”

“Yoooou wanna cuddle...? Or—?”

Castiel rolled his tear-stung eyes. “Yes.”

With a small smile, Dean snuggled up, slumped down, hands around his half-empty mug and uneaten popcorn.

Castiel gave Dean a kiss from above, smooching his forehead. “I love you.”

Dean peered up, charmed by the delivery. “Me too.”

“You love _me_ , or you?”

Dean snuffled a laugh. “You, you dolt.” But, after a pause, he added, “And me. Even though I’m a colossal mess.”

“You are that,” Castiel agreed, wrapping an arm over Dean and squeezing. “But you make good tea, and you’re nice to cuddle.”

“Makes up for a lot, huh.”

“It does indeed.”

They cuddled. They drank tea, ate all the popcorn, and watched the Road Runner get the better of Wile E. Coyote a dozen times over. Meebo snoozed on, content with her chin on Castiel’s lap.

And, once all the tea was drunk and the popcorn was eaten, they cuddled some more.

They fell asleep together, snug in each other’s embrace. Castiel didn’t have any more dreams.


	11. Dog Experience

Castiel groaned, glaring at Sam’s laptop screen, one hand scrunched in his sleep-mussed hair. He lay on his stomach, legs crooked up over him, a pair of woollen socks he’d borrowed from Sam dangling loose from his toes. One of Castiel’s hands was perched on the laptop trackpad, scrolling the seemingly endless pages of job listings. Meebo lay warm at his side, stretched out, ears lazily pricked to listen to the commercials muttering on the TV.

Castiel groaned again.

“You all right there, Cas?” Dean asked, leaning out from the kitchen, apron dangling.

Castiel rolled onto his back and groaned a third time, hands over his face. Meebo lifted her head with a disgruntled whine, having been robbed of her backrest.

Dean sighed, taking off his apron as he approached. He pushed his socked foot against Castiel’s hair, asking, “What’s up?”

Castiel heaved a sigh, parting his hands to look up at Dean’s imposing figure, blocking out the sunlight from the plastic ceiling. “It looks like there’s so many,” Castiel complained. “But even entry-level jobs require things I don’t have. Like experience. If I limit the search to my marketable credentials, there’s nothing.”

Dean nodded soulfully, crouching down so he could stroke Castiel’s hair. “You gotta take a break, man. You’ve been here four hours already, get up and walk around. You want some lunch?”

“I want a _job_ ,” Castiel grumbled.

“Yeah, well, that ain’t happening today, so— Tacos?”

Castiel stared dead-eyed at the glowing roof. “I think I’ll go out for a walk. Meebo—”

Meebo was already on her feet, tail wagging madly, tongue lolling, eyes intent on Castiel.

“Meebo likes that idea,” Dean smiled, ruffling the dog’s back. “Don’t you.”

“ _ROOF!_ ”

Castiel got up with a grunt, leaning over his folded legs. He felt tired-eyed and achey. He looked up at Dean hopefully. “Come outside with us?”

Dean’s lips parted. “Uh. What about tacos?”

“Tacos first,” Castiel agreed. He smiled at Meebo, giving her forehead a kiss. “ _Then_ walkies.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Castiel walked a bit too briskly, a tidy frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. He wouldn’t look around, focusing only on Meebo straining on the leash, and the sidewalk ahead of them. Dean watched the scenery on both their behalf; he took deep breaths, mentioning nice things he saw, like, “Sky’s a good, _proper_ deep blue today. Hmm. Love that colour. And daaaamn, those sidewalk trees look _real_ pretty. They’ve all turned for fall now, not a damn green leaf in sight. Hey! Check out that golden sun, huh, Cas? Freakin’ fairytale shimmers through the leaves – I’d paint that if I had any artistic ability. Hey-hey, awesome, the crêpe vendor is back again. You wanna—? No? Okay...”

Dean put his hands in his pockets, peering wistfully at the crêpe stall as they walked past. Delicious smells grazed against his senses, making his mouth water. But he went on, sticking by Castiel’s side.

Preoccupied. That was what Cas was today.

“You’ll find a job,” Dean reassured him, elbowing Castiel as they walked. “Me and Sam’ve got you covered until then, y’know? No pressure.”

“It’s not that,” Castiel said. His eyes flicked up to see ahead of him, preoccupation turning to concern. “Well, it is that. It is very much that.”

“Meaning...?”

Castiel sighed brutishly. “If it’s this hard for _me_ to find a job— Me, who’s been through tertiary education, who _has_ employable skills and knowledge. Not to mention – huh – me being a white man with no children to care for. You’ve ‘got me covered’.” He shook his head, going back to staring at the ground as he stalked along. “How much more difficult is it for the women I once called my co-workers? Clarissa. Hannah. Jen. Any of them who aren’t in jail now. They never had it easy when I saw them often. Now they’re gone from my life—”

His eyes turned to the sky, at last seeing the beautiful blue expanse that Dean described. “I think about them every day, Dean. I wish I could help them rebuild their lives, the way you’ve helped me. But how can I do that if I can barely help myself?”

Dean listened in sullen silence. Of all the things to experience from hearing that confession, Dean only found himself falling more in love. It seemed he found selflessness attractive in other people besides himself.

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean said, after a long thoughtful spell. “Gotta be some way we could help, right? Somehow. Maybe you, me, and Sammy can put our heads together, see what we come up with.” He pulled a hand from his pocket and set it reassuringly on Castiel’s arm, squeezing the wrist strap of his trenchcoat. “Take your mind off it for now, though. Alright? Breathe. Take a hint from the dog, dude – she sets her troubles behind her every day, she just wants to enjoy a good walk.”

Castiel seemed disturbed still, but he nodded anyway. Switching the leash from his left hand to his right, he reached to take Dean’s hand, and held it, tight.

“That’s the spirit,” Dean smiled.

“I need to check my P.O. box,” Castiel said, leading both Dean and the dog to the edge of the sidewalk, looking back over his shoulder to make sure the road was clear before crossing over. “That package still hasn’t arrived.”

“I _knew_ you were waiting on something,” Dean said, skipping up onto the other sidewalk, letting Castiel guide him onward. “You get me a gift?”

“I got myself a gift,” Castiel corrected, handing Meebo’s leash to Dean, then saying, firmly, “Stay here.”

Dean stayed.

Cas disappeared inside the Post Office, leaving Dean with the dog. Meebo liked to sniff pedestrians’ shoes as they walked past – Dean gave everyone tense, polite smiles, uttering “Sorry,” or “She thinks you’re awesome, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

He held her back as a mother approached pushing a baby carriage – only to ease up on the leash when the mother spotted the dog and hastily crossed the street. Dean was surprised, until he saw a few other people do the same thing, pausing mid-walk to hurry away.

“You’re not _that_ scary,” Dean said to Meebo, stroking her ears. “Just take a bit of gettin’ used to, that’s all.”

Meebo wagged her curled-up tail, blue-brown eyes peering brightly up at Dean. “ _Orf_ ,” she said, gently. She got up, pattering around, wanting to leave.

Castiel exited the Post Office with a soft white parcel in his hands, apparently lightweight. He turned it over, showing Dean a line of black tape, and an affixed notice reading ‘ _OPENED OFFICIALLY – POLICE DEPARTMENT_ ’.

“Guess they’re being thorough,” Dean shrugged. “Just in case the Yellow-Eyes sent you somethin’ nasty. Those creeps ain’t above that.”

“Mm,” Castiel agreed. “Can’t say I don’t feel as if my privacy’s been violated, though.”

“Better than the alternative,” Dean assured him. “C’mon, pocket that thing and let’s get going. Meebo’s getting all antsy about something, I’m guessin’ she’s gotta attend to her private business.”

They headed towards the park, and Dean’s excitement grew the closer they got. He could smell the trees already, and the fact Meebo was yanking and pulling on the leash to get there faster only made Dean more eager. He resisted falling into a jog, because then Meebo would think she was _allowed_ to pull.

“ _No_ , Meebo,” Castiel said, in a gruff, demanding way – but Meebo only looked back, then decided to ignore him, snuffling nose leading the way again.

“Gotta say,” Dean puffed, as they finally entered under the park’s wrought-iron archway gate, immediately showered with falling leaves, “this rope leash ain’t as tough as it looked in the store.”

“Better than the first one,” Castiel mentioned, also aware of how the rope was pulled taut, the white spirals of thread strained to their maximum. “She was too strong for a regular leash.”

“Maybe a chain,” Dean wheezed, both hands around the leash handle now, tugged into a two-second trot before he leaned back to slow down. “Uhhf—”

Castiel chuckled, jogging to catch up, hands in his trenchcoat pockets. “At least she’s gained some weight.”

“Yeah, but now she’s— Gaah—” Dean fought to regain a walking pace, jaw clenched, hands whitened and twisted around the rope. “Swear to God, Cas, I think we gotta take her to the Police Dog Academy, get her trained properly. I can’t—”

“MEEBO,” Castiel bellowed. “Stop that.”

Meebo went “ _gak_ ,” trying to bark despite the strain on her throat.

Dean’s boots skidded along on slippery leaves – he yelped, rope preventing him from flailing. Feeling sudden looseness, Meebo bounded forward, pulling Dean along in a tumbling run, until Dean was tripping and stumbling, then flopped face-down, flat on the path, rope-burn on his wrists. Looking up, winded, he watched a grisly black shadow growing smaller and smaller as Meebo hurtled off into flurries of orange leaves, rope trailing behind her. Startled park-goers fled her path, shrieks and yelps marking her way, even once she was out of sight.

Dean felt careful hands touch his back and elbow, pulling him to his feet. Castiel’s worried eyes darted ahead, but back to Dean, pausing to ask, unhurriedly, “Are you okay?”

Dean nodded, a loose fist rising to brush a bump on his chin. Looking down at his fist he saw blood on the back of his hand. “I’m fine,” he said, hollowly.

Castiel swallowed. “Can you run?”

Dean nodded. “C’mon,” he urged, dropping into a jog. He limped on one leg, but switched up his rhythm with a skip, and soon it became easier. Castiel ran alongside him, coat flying out behind him as he swept along.

It was obvious where Meebo had been. Children sat on the leaf-covered banks of the pathway, heads turned, speaking to their friends in awed tones. A trembling old lady stood holding a younger woman as physical support, while a teenage boy fetched the lady’s upturned walker frame. A wire trash can was the wrong way up, garbage mixed in with the leaves. And not one, not two – not even four— No less than eight people saw Dean and Castiel running at full speed, dressed in jackets and jeans rather than workout gear, and made easy assumptions: they pointed in the direction their dog had gone. Only fools like _them_ could have a dog like _that_.

Out of breath, hands grasping each other’s elbows for support, Dean and Castiel crested the same hill they’d kissed on only a week or two ago. Here they could overlook the rest of the park – and with a mighty wheeze, Dean pointed a triumphant finger down the hill. In a field blanketed with fiery yellow leaves and specks of red, there was a large black woman, walking seven dogs at once.

Well... she wasn’t walking them any more. She fought to control them as Meebo _disrupted_ them.

Exhaling, then returning to their impromptu spurt of exercise, Dean and Castiel skidded back down the hill, following paths and shortcuts to get to the field. Once there, they pelted forward, heading straight for their runaway demon.

“Sorry!” Dean shouted, as they got within earshot of the woman. “Sorry, she shot off, I dropped the leash— I’m so sorry, ma’am—”

“Boy, quit your apologising! She’s just sayin’ hello.”

Dean breathed heavily, shaking as he tried to grab Meebo and pull her away from the other dogs, who were all bouncing and wagging their tails and sniffing Meebo from top to tail, biting each other playfully. “Meebo— Meebo, come here—”

Castiel pushed Dean away, bent down, grabbed the leash, and yanked Meebo away. “ _Really_ , now,” he said to her, as if talking to a misbehaved child. “I expect better from you, Meebo. Next time I hope you can exercise some _patience_. Sit.”

Meebo sat. Though her tail was still fanning away leaves, she licked her drooling black jaws and her nose, peering up at Castiel apologetically.

“Seriously,” Dean breathed, eyes narrowed, bending forward over his knees. “Can’t you just say ‘bad dog’?”

The woman with seven dogs gave a soft, purring, “Hell no,” and when Dean glanced at her, she smiled, plump crinkles appearing around her friendly eyes. “Dogs ain’t got the same idea of right ‘n wrong as we do, precious. Ain’t no such thing as a _bad_ dog. Your one’s just a lil’ on the wild side. Always at the mercy of her instincts.”

“Can say that again,” Dean huffed, straightening up with a sigh.

“Good dog,” Castiel said to Meebo, scratching her head.

Dean disagreed completely. But he was clearly outnumbered in that respect.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, offering the woman an upward-turned hand. “Lieutenant at the local precinct.” They shook, even though the woman held two leashes and a roll of unused doggy poop bags in that hand. Dean cocked his head towards Castiel and Meebo. “This here’s Cas.”

Castiel smiled pleasantly, approaching to shake too. “I’m Dean’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you _have_ been through some things, haven’t you,” the woman said, her dark gaze becoming gentle with sympathy. “But you’re on a path of personal growth, now. Good for you.” She let go of Castiel’s hand. Brighter now, she turned her happy eyes to Dean. “Missouri Moseley. I run a dog boarding kennel not too far from here.”

“Ohhh,” Dean said, eyes rising. “That explains the... excess of dogs.”

“Excess,” Castiel tutted. He looked around at the tumbling tangle of sniffing noses and wagging tails, and somehow found it in him to declare, “This is exactly the right number of dogs.”

Dean hummed in an oh-God-what-is-our-future-apartment-gonna-look-like kind of way.

“Hello,” Castiel said, bending to pet a Rottweiler. “I’m Castiel, nice to meet you. Hello.” To a golden Labrador: “How are you today.”

“Cas,” Dean said, smiling tensely at Missouri. “Cas, you’re gonna do this _now_? They can’t understand you.”

“They understand me perfectly,” Castiel said, crouching down, trenchcoat flaring out across the ground as he gave a tired-looking Greyhound a gentle ear-rub. “You’re a handsome dog, aren’t you. Yes.” Then he lifted the pink tag on the collar of a not-quite-Pomeranian. “Pixie! What a pretty name.”

Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, giving Missouri an uncomfortable look. “Bet you got better places to be, huh.”

“Not at all,” Missouri beamed, apparently delighted by Castiel taking the time to greet each dog individually. “As a matter of fact, I got piles and piles of paperwork that need seeing to, but hell, if I get to that, ain’t nobody out walking these energetic angels. Can’t run a dog kennel just by runnin’ the business and not caring for the dogs, can I?”

“Yes, I smell like my dog, Meebo,” Castiel said kindly, to a one-eyed mutt with a fat, pink nose. “She’s an extremely good dog, she saved me from a very bad man. She’s named after the Latin phrase _non timebo mala_ , like Dean’s tattoo.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, Cas was a complete dork. And Dean got to _keep_ him.

“By chance,” Missouri said to Castiel, while he rubbed the chest of a great shaggy German Shepherd, “do you _always_ go around spreadin’ joy and happiness?”

“Ch! Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “It’s kind of his nature.”

Castiel looked up at Missouri, blushing. “Um. I— I do try.”

“Hm!” Missouri seemed pleased. “You must spend your time doing wonderful things, then,” she nodded. “A teacher, maybe? Running some kinda... non-profit organisation?”

“Oh, I’m no leader,” Castiel said, bowing his head, focusing on the grumbling canine crowd, including Meebo when she battled her way into the dog pile. “I’m more of a caretaker. A... A supporter. Companion. And I don’t have a job. I recently... um...” He slowly looked up, and Dean wondered if he was going to reveal the truth, telling a random stranger about his hard past.

But it seemed Missouri already knew. “You been to Hell and back, haven’t you.”

Castiel looked down once again.

Dean took a small breath. “How do you know? You met before, or...?”

Missouri looked back at him thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see it too, honey. First night you met him. Whole world of loneliness and neglect in that boy’s heart. Me... I feel things, sense things, most people don’t see or sense – but boy, you gotta be blind, deaf, and void of any kinda empathy if you don’t hurt to look at him sometimes. I’ve seen dogs hide their aching better than Castiel here does.”

Castiel shrank inside his coat.

Easing forward, Dean touched the back of Castiel’s neck. Castiel looked up, blue eyes shadowed by the animals hugging around him.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, gazing at Castiel with all his love shining inside him. “I see it. But every day Cas smiles for a little longer, and I think, maybe someday he won’t hurt so bad.” With a playful quirk in his lip and a whiskey-burn roughness in his voice, Dean added, “I got faith in him.”

Castiel swallowed. The smallest smile rose on a corner of his lips, and Dean mirrored it.

“Your guide knows what she’s doing,” Missouri said, hugging Meebo against her thigh. “Like I said. Runs on instinct. She just wants to make you smile, Castiel. And, besides that... she knew I was lookin’ for someone.” Her eyes returned to Castiel, and she asked, “As it happens, I might have a job opening for you.”

Dean and Castiel both looked at her, stunned.

When Castiel scrambled to get up, Dean lent him a hand, and kept holding it as Castiel got to his feet.

“What do you mean,” Castiel said, “a job?”

“How are you with icky-sticky stuff?” Missouri asked, cold-rosy cheeks rising as she smiled, pressing crinkles below her eyes. “Got a strong stomach for germs?”

“Germs?” Castiel hesitated. “I prefer to keep everything clean. If I can avoid any kind of contamination, I will.” Realising he was probably being interviewed, Castiel hastily added, “Disinfecting both rooms and bodies is a skill I’ve not only mastered but become an expert at.”

Dean smirked, quietly proud that Cas could now talk up a skill he’d previously been ashamed of. And, Dean supposed, that skill was something else he appreciated about Cas. Dean wasn’t a fan of germs either.

“And what sort of salary are you looking to get?” Missouri pried. “Just outta curiosity.”

“Um.” Castiel glanced at Dean, but when Dean shook his head, indicating Cas was on his own, Castiel admitted, truthfully, “Anything. I’m desperate. I just want a job so that I can be financially independent and not rely on Dean for my basic needs. And I want to cover my share of the rent and food, and start saving for— I don’t know yet. Something beyond my current means.”

Missouri raised her eyebrows, nodding and humming small noises. “Okay,” she said breathily. “Okay, I’ll think about that.”

“Oh—” Castiel let go of Dean’s hand, madly patting at his pockets, grabbing his own ass, then stroking down the front of his jeans – finally locating what he sought in one of the inside pockets of his trenchcoat. “This.” He pulled out an envelope with a handwritten address on the front, tugging out the résumé Nora had given him. “I’ve made photocopies. And I have it in my email. But maybe—?” He offered the résumé to Missouri, sans the envelope. “It has a recommendation letter attached from my last employer.”

“Oh-ho,” Missouri chuckled, juggling her handfuls of dog leashes and roll of bags to one hand, taking Castiel’s résumé. “And you had this ready and waitin’ in your pocket. Almost as if fate brought us together.” She looked knowingly at Meebo.

Meebo panted, looking knowingly back.

Dean felt weird. He hunkered down inside his leather jacket, letting Castiel and Missouri mutter about finer details, like telephone numbers and email addresses. Dean did not believe in fate. This was just a super convenient coincidence, like when those three doctors called _him_ instead of Eve. The dog wasn’t magic. Cas wasn’t magic. _Missouri_ wasn’t magic.

It did feel a little bit magic _al_ , though. That right-place-at-the-right-time sort of stuff was allowed to happen in real life – how else did people get featured on the _Ellen_ show? Dean was okay with magic _al_.

“All righty,” Missouri sighed eventually, a big smile on her face. “I’ll get back to you very soon, Castiel.” In a lighter tone, she chirped, “Well! Ain’t that a weight off my shoulders. That pile of paperwork goes straight in the trash, I think I found the dog carer I need on my staff right here.”

Castiel smiled in a quiet, peaceful way. When he looked at Dean, he seemed full to the brim with contentment. Eyes lowering to Meebo, who was again at play with the other dogs, barking and rolling in the leaves with them, Castiel called, “Come, Meebo! Good dog. _Good_ dog.” He crouched, kissing her cheek. “You’ve done what you set out to do, I’ve met who you wanted me to meet. Let’s go home now.”

“Can we get crêpes on the way?” Dean asked.

Missouri smiled, gathering up her dogs and going on her way, waving back over her shoulder.

Giving Missouri a wave, Castiel stood again. He slipped his hand into Dean’s, wrapping Meebo’s rope around his other wrist. “Yes, Dean,” he said cheerfully. “We can indeed get crêpes.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

“Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Dean smiled as he walked, content to dawdle, now Meebo wasn’t in a rush. They strolled along the sidewalk as the sun started to set, shadows of buildings leaving Dean’s torso warm and his legs cold.

“I was thinking...”

“Good to know.”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “About getting a job. I’ll need a permanent address, that was one issue I struggled with when applying for things. I can’t just use a P.O. box forever.” Sheepishly, he pulled an official-looking folded paper out of his pocket, showing Dean. “I got this in the Post Office earlier. Change of address form.”

“Well, you know what I’m gonna say, Cas,” Dean smirked. “You don’t even need to ask.”

“I know that,” Castiel said, almost defensively. He put the form back in his pocket, eyes on Meebo as she wandered from one side of the sidewalk to the other, pausing to sniff a trash can. “But you and Sam are going to move into a real house eventually. Even if I did come with you...”

He trailed off.

Dean nudged him. “What?”

“What would the arrangement be? If you and Sam buy a house, and I live there with you, would I owe you a third of the price? Do I pay rent to you for all of eternity? Or am I your charity case, given free board in exchange for – for what? What can I even contribute?”

Part of Dean wanted to joke, ‘ _Hey, if you put out once in a while..._ ’ but he swallowed it down, despising that part of him even thought of it.

“Honestly?” Dean looked up, exhaling, watching his breath cloud in gold before his face, vanishing as he walked through it. “I don’t know.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head.

“I don’t want that, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “I don’t want to be indebted to you. I don’t want to owe you _anything_. I want to be free. I _deserve_ to be free. Maybe...” He took a deep breath, then let it out, mostly vapourless, as the air hadn’t had time to warm in his body. “Maybe there would come a time when I have to move out,” he said, regret in his voice. “We do it backwards. Your partner moves in on the second date, then moves out when things get serious.” He smiled lopsidedly, but it was an unhappy smile.

Dean gulped, eyes on the crêpe stand up ahead, steam coming from the street vendor’s cart. “I think there’s ways we can get around the issue,” he uttered, following their dog closer to the smell of food. “We’ll find a solution where none of us have to compromise, okay?” With a reassuring smile, Dean batted at Castiel’s side. “C’mon, let’s eat. I think better when there’s food in my belly.”

Castiel flattened his lips together and looked away, but Dean caught a hint of a smile.

While Castiel stayed back with Meebo, Dean went ahead and ordered their crêpes, paid, then stood to wait with the others. They watched their food being prepared by a guy in a traditional French mime costume and makeup, spinning pale batter around a cooking plate with a flat stick. Smoke blew away on the breeze, carrying the delicious smell with it.

Once done, each crêpe was perfectly wrapped inside a white palm-sized paper bag, and stuck with a plastic fork. Dean went to collect them, giving a gracious word of thanks to the artist, who mimed an illustrious bow and pretended to twiddle his Dalí-esque mustache.

“Hmm,” Castiel said, as Dean handed him a sundried tomato crêpe. “Hm!” he chirped, stuffing a tomato in his mouth... then he looked down and mumbled, “mhmgh mhmjmmm...”

Dean smirked very widely, pulling Cas away from the stand as he lifted his handful to his face and shoved half his Nutella crêpe in his mouth, ignoring the fork. Holy crap, that was delicious – melted Nutella oozed against his tongue, surrounded by soft-yet-crispy pancake. He spent the following seconds chewing, and staring happily at Castiel.

Meebo lifted a paw, looking up at them hopefully. “ _Fweeee-e?_ ” she asked.

“Well, since you asked nicely,” Castiel said, breaking off a wobbly sliver of his crêpe with his fingertips, showing off just-burnt edges and soft white pancake. He held it over Meebo, dropped it – and Meebo ate it up in the blink of an eye. Literally. Dean didn’t even see her move, but she _nyam-myam-nyam_ ed and quickly swallowed.

Dean gazed at Castiel, for the thousandth time feeling his heart rising inside him, bubby and bright. He’d never been so in love with anyone, he’d never realised how silly things like tossing pancake into a dog’s mouth could be so inexplicably adorable.

Soon realising he’d forgotten his food, Dean stuffed his mouth again, licking Nutella off his lips.

Castiel popped another sundried tomato between his teeth. Dean was about to mention the tomato-coloured stain around his mouth – but then he saw someone juuust behind Castiel that he was sure he recognised.

Wait, where had he seen that guy before? Spiky blonde hair... Genuine tan...

All at once, the memories arrived in Dean’s conscious awareness.

“No way,” Dean said, thrusting his crêpe into Castiel’s hand. “Here, hold that for a minute. I gotta talk to someone.”

Dean ran off, hoping to catch the kid before he went into the movie theatre with his friends. “Hey!” Dean shouted. “Hey, kid!”

The kid turned around, and Dean grinned when he saw he was right – it was the same spiky-haired twink from the club, the night Dean and Castiel had met. The kid didn’t seem to recognise Dean, but then Dean flashed his badge, and the kid’s face paled out. His friends muttered amongst themselves, but Dean waved down their suspicions.

“Relax, I’m not here to hassle you. I just wanted to say something.”

“Say what, puerco?” the kid said.

Dean wet his lips with his tongue, feeling the cold air nip them as he did. “Do you remember what I told you? About getting a degree?”

“Yeah.” The kid sneered. “You said go to college and get an education.”

Dean nodded, tossing a glance over his shoulder. Castiel was still standing there in his trenchcoat, watching, absent-mindedly eating Dean’s Nutella crêpe while Meebo stared at the paper bag in wait. Dean turned back to the kid and looked him in the eye.

“Disregard what I said. Getting a degree isn’t for everyone. Do it if it’s the best thing for you, if you can afford it. If it’s going to send you spiralling into decades of debt, you’re better off without.”

The kid seemed taken aback. “What? Why the change of heart?”

Dean lifted a shoulder. “I learned a bit more about the world. People change their minds when they learn new things, right?” He stuffed his cold hands in his pockets. “Look, working your way through life without a degree can be tough, okay – don’t take that route unless you’re sure. But...” Dean tipped his head back and forth, eyes wandering, “you know,” he said lightly, “weigh your options. You’re young, you still have room to make mistakes. But if – _when_ you make mistakes, don’t let them keep you down. Failure ain’t the end. Neither is rock bottom. That’s where you learn to do things by yourself, and learn how not to make the same mistake again.”

The kid stared blankly, and Dean looked up at the other young adults standing around, all of them with the same expression. Dean nodded to them. “Goes for you, too. Make the best decisions for _you_. Don’t always follow your friends. Don’t mindlessly do what your parents say, but don’t ignore them either. Don’t do what society tells you is good for you, that one is the goddamn worst.” He jabbed a finger down in mid-air, “Sit down, get a fucking calculator out, and think about what _you_ want in life. Then figure out how to fuck up the system so you can get it. Because I’m tellin’ you now, the only person who wants to see your guaranteed success is _you_. And... maybe your mom.”

As another rush of recollection hit him, Dean added, “And! Don’t trust everyone who says they can give you a good deal, all right? Assume they’re out to get you. There’s a million and one traps waiting with their teeth bared for you to fall into – that’s the kind of world this is. Know that every decision you make, good or bad, has an effect.”

He looked over at Castiel again, smiling when he saw both crêpes had been devoured entirely. “Some people... some really great people... they’d give anything to be back where you are.” Dean gave the kids a stern look now, making sure they knew he was serious. “It’s a lot of pressure. I was in your shoes too, once. I did okay; others didn’t. The world is your oyster, but the world is also crappy and limited. Be smart. And don’t fuck this up.”

He pointed in the kid’s face. “But at the very least, be a decent human being. In the end, nothing matters more.”

Then he put on a smile, patted the kid’s bicep, and turned to go back to Cas.

Castiel tilted his head when Dean joined him. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Ahh,” Dean sighed, glancing over to see the kid and his friends disappearing into the movie theatre, peering back at him as they went. “Nothing. Just doing my job.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Midnight. A ticking clock.

One light, pouring a warm golden pool onto the dining table.

One box of cereal sat between them. The dog stretched out on the floor, snoozing beside their bare feet.

Dean broke the silence with a loud, extended _crrrunchhh_. He held a spoon poised in his fingers, one hand reaching for the cereal box to read the back.

Sam sighed. “Look,” he said. “We should probably decide now. Otherwise we’ll end up having the same discussion again, next time the rent is due.”

“I can’t have any say in this,” Castiel said solemnly, hands clasped together on the tabletop, looking at his own thumbnails. He noticed the grooves in his nail bed were smoothing out as they grew; he was eating the right stuff now, and it made a difference. “It’s not my money. I’m a... barnacle, stuck on side of the U.S.S. Winchester.”

Sam snickered, shooting Castiel a placid smile. “You’re a valued member of the crew, Cas. You’ll always get a say.”

Even so, Castiel looked to Dean first.

Dean shrugged. He crunched a few more times, then swallowed, setting the cereal box upright, plopping his spoon into his pink milk. “Far as I see it—” He thumbed over his shoulder at the stack of unopened property magazines. “We already decided. It’s not like we got too busy, we just... stopped looking.” He turned his eyes to Castiel, offering a friendly smirk. Then he set his eyes on Sam, and said, firmly. “Why did we want to move out in the first place? You remember what you said to me?”

Sam lowered his eyes, a smile curling up his face. “Yeah. I said this apartment never felt like home.”

“And now?” Dean asked, eyebrows up.

Sam looked tenderly at Castiel. He smiled a bit wider, then stared back at his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean said, scooping up milk in his spoon and slurping it. “Ain’t the apartment that was the problem.”

“Wait,” Castiel said, stretching out one hand on the table. “I don’t follow.”

“It’s you, Cas,” Dean said, face towards Castiel, eyes averted. “You and the magic dog. You’re home. You want it in a greetings card? Painted on a banner? Me ‘n Sam are wanderers, man. We move on often, we don’t take root. Was never in our nature. We’ve moved apartments every six months to a year for the last decade. We thought—”

“We thought buying a house would be the be-all, end-all; maybe we’d settle for once in our lives,” Sam went on, looking at Castiel gently. “Maybe...” He shrugged. “Maybe a house would be home. But you moved in, and we... kind of forgot we wanted anything else. You _fit_ here. With us. Both you and Meebo.”

Castiel reached one hand down to touch Meebo’s scarred ears; she lifted her head, whining a note of interest. To Sam and Dean, Castiel said, ever so quietly, “We’re _your_ forever home.” Castiel had never felt so honoured.

Dean poured more cereal into his sugary milk, then smushed it down with the back of his spoon. “That’s it, then. We’ll stick around. Three men and a dog, apartment with a greenhouse roof. Sweet.”

Sam took a breath, smiling as he came to terms with that decision. “Okay. So... we’ll sign a long-term lease. But what do we do with the money? We’re saved for years, we should still invest it...”

Now Castiel smiled. “If I may... I have a suggestion that might intrigue you.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

Sam hurried to the rattling front door of the apartment in his slippers, muttering under his breath. “Okay, _okay_ , I’m coming,” he said, undoing the chain, pausing to push the bark-bark-barking Meebo away with a foot and a stern, “Meebo, _bed_ —” before finally opening the door.

Outside the apartment there was a skinny lady wearing fake tan and a very short skirt. Sam noticed her garter strap too, but tried to drag his eyes back to her face. He smiled nervously. “Hello?”

“Clarissa,” she said, offering a hand, palm down. Sam reached out and shook her hand, surprised by her grip. Clarissa tucked her brown hair behind her ear, and Sam saw a glint of gold from an ear cuff. “I’m here to drop off some leaflets.”

“Leaflets,” Sam echoed. “Uh, like, Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“No, like, Eve’s Witnesses,” Clarissa said, managing to frown cheerfully. “I was told Jimmy lives here.”

“Jimmy. You mean Cas―”

“Castiel, yeah.” Clarissa slipped a finger inside her jacket and snapped up her bra strap, which was bright pink. “He asked about banking options.”

“Did he?” Sam blinked a few times. “Okay, yeah. Do you want to come in? He’s still asleep.”

“Nope, I stay outside unless I’m paid,” Clarissa said with a smile. “Will you give him the leaflets? I have a client to get to.”

“Sure,” Sam said. He felt unintelligent in his responses. But it was seven in the morning, this was a horrible time to be talked to about banking options.

He took the handful of leaflets Clarissa gave him, and nodded in thanks. “I’ll give them to him when he gets up. Hey―” He spoke quickly before Clarissa could leave. “Can I ask... You’re one of Eve’s escorts, aren’t you?” When Clarissa nodded, Sam squinted and went on, “What happened to you all? Dean said the brothel disbanded, but―”

“Half of us are in jail,” Clarissa said, with a smile and little emotion. “The rest of us take whatever above-board jobs we can get, waiting for Eve’s court trial. We’re expecting to get caught and pulled back in eventually, there’s no way around it.”

Sam took a breath. “Wh... What if there was? A kind of... rehabilitation... thing.”

Clarissa laughed derisively. “Those programs never work.”

“The people that run those rehabs are out of government funding,” Sam said gently. “But—” He took a breath, then another one, spitting out his thoughts: “What if it was like a... a private, non-profit community-driven thing?”

When Clarissa looked curious, Sam went on, “Cas needed a permanent address to apply for a bunch of jobs. And we figured, we may as well stick around here for a while. The dog’s scratched the walls, it’s not like we’re getting the deposit back. Cas was saying— Meebo, no— Meebo!”

Meebo rushed up to Clarissa, sniffing her stilettos, then up her legs. Clarissa whistled a sharp note, and Meebo froze. With a grin, Clarissa reached to squeeze one of those stiff black ears. “Go back inside, Meebo,” she said. “In!”

Meebo went, panting happily.

Sam stared after the dog, gaping, eyebrows raised. He turned back to Clarissa. “Wow.”

“I love dogs,” she sighed, somewhat wistfully. “So much easier to look after than people. So, you were saying?”

Sam chuckled. “Um. Yeah. Cas talks about you. He wants to help you. And, by extension, we do too. Fact is – me and Dean were looking to buy a house. But... I mean, there’s probably better places to put the money, right?”

“Like where?”

“Potentially...” Sam rolled a shoulder, still unsure, “we could train up ex-escorts – anyone who wants to escape the sex industry, and... and sexual assault survivors, people who fell short in life’s roulette. Giving them job options and experience – plus free counseling.”

Sam felt a quick rush of euphoria as weeks of jumbled thoughts and the outcome of half-conversations with Dean and Castiel fell neatly into place. He looked Clarissa in the eyes and added, with confidence, “It won’t be anything fancy – probably nothing better than a computing course and a couple of private counseling sessions, but... it would be something. Right?”

Clarissa’s gaze lowered to the floor, her glossy lips pressed together. Sam watched as her lips slowly parted, and her eyes moved back to his. She smiled. “It’s an idea. Could use some work.”

Sam gave a sideways smirk, both bashful and proud. “At the moment we’re just throwing concepts together over midnight snacks. There’s plenty of space on the team, if you’re interested. We could always do with someone with your – you know, background. Mull it over, see where the ideas go. At the moment we’re looking for a base of operations, a building we can borrow and use for evening meet-ups.”

Clarissa seemed amused, shaking her head. She wavered on her feet, ready to go. “I’ll think about it. Next time get Castiel to talk to me. Or pay me! I listen better that way. Take my card, call me.”

“Noted,” Sam said, filing that advice in his head under ‘Maybe We Should Pay Escorts To Learn Web Development’. He took Clarissa’s proffered business card. “Hope we see you soon.” Sam smiled, watching Clarissa leave with a wave of her hand.

Sam shut the door, feeling he’d accomplished quite a lot, given it was only seven in the morning. He put the leaflets down on the kitchen table, then went to go and brew some coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam looked up from his cereal to see Castiel emerge from his room (a room which was officially no longer a study), looking ruffled in an overlarge t-shirt and... apparently, nothing else below the waist. Castiel rubbed at his eyes, squinty and irritated by the light.

“Clarissa dropped by,” Sam said, nudging the leaflets closer to Castiel’s side of the table. “I told her―”

“I know, I was listening,” Castiel mumbled, shuffling past Sam in a tired hunch, making a beeline for the coffee. “That was a very nice offer for you to make.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d be extremely pleased if Clarissa joined us in the discussion. I think several others from Spank would be willing to help too.” Castiel yawned widely, loudly – and it went on so long that he filled his mug too far. “Oops... Mm. I should mention again how grateful I am you’re even _considering_ doing this.” He tipped the excess coffee into the sink and then shuffled back towards his bedroom door, warming his hands on the mug. “It’s such a selfless thing to be doing with your money.”

“It’s worth it,” Sam said, pouring more Cheerios into his bowl.

The fumes of the coffee seemed to give Castiel life, and his eyes opened enough so that Sam could see the blue. Cas leaned against the door jamb, sipping his coffee with a contented smile on his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Sam asked, smirking at the grin Castiel now wore.

Castiel shrugged, but didn’t stop grinning.

Dean appeared out of the shadows of the ex-study, looking twice as bedraggled as Castiel. Sam watched his brother nudge up behind Castiel and pat him on the rump, almost spilling his coffee. Then Dean put a little kiss on the back of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel shut his eyes. He was happy.

Dean edged around Castiel, smiling at Sam as he went to get coffee too. “Morning, Sammy.”

“Good morning, Dean,” Sam said politely, saying absolutely nothing about the fact that until now, he had been unable to confirm his suspicions that Dean was sleeping in the same room as Castiel. They’d been very quiet about it. It was almost like they weren’t having sex at all. If that was true, it meant Dean cared more about Cas’ mental wellbeing and recovery than he cared about getting laid – and as soon as that thought crossed Sam’s mind, he smiled. Of course it was true.

Sam was still beaming into his coffee when Castiel asked, “What are _you_ smiling about?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, as Dean went back to Castiel with coffee in hand and kissed him on the nose. “Just. Uh. Too much sugar in my coffee.”

Dean and Castiel shot Sam a _look_. Aww, cute. They were synchronising like a married couple already.

...Damn it, Sam was going to be the messenger boy whenever they had a fight.

Oh well.

He sipped his coffee, thought about the future, and figured it would probably turn out okay.


	12. Castiel's First Day at Work

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean grunted, tossing his duffel bag down onto the carpet, one hand reaching to ruffle Meebo’s head as she pawed at his legs. “We got any ice?”

Sam emerged from the kitchen, sipping a green smoothie through a curly straw. “You want a smoothie?”

“No, I want the swelling to go down,” Dean scowled, throwing himself backwards into the couch, arms and legs splayed. “Get me a band-aid while you’re at it, would you.”

Sam put down his smoothie and dutifully grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer section of the refrigerator. “Here,” he said, tossing it onto Dean’s lap. Dean grunted, patting it lazily.

With a sigh, Sam approached, sitting heavily beside Dean. “Where does it hurt?” he intoned.

“Left shoulder,” Dean muttered, leaning to rest his cheek on his brother’s shoulder. Sam pressed the peas on the injury, and Dean just existed for a while, glad to rest after a long day. Meebo panted, bumping her entire left side along Dean’s knee, then collapsing at his feet, content to share his company.

“What happened at work today?” Sam asked.

“Ugh, long story,” Dean muttered. “Wait until Cas is—”

The front door rattled, thumped, and slammed open. “Dean!” Castiel strode into the living room, trenchcoat flaring, scarf trailing. His eyes were alive with excitement, and he paused for a moment, then went back to close the front door gently.

He returned, smiling widely. “I had the most incredible day, Dean. Hello, Sam.”

“Heyyy,” Dean drawled, making the effort to lift his head. “How’s Missouri treating her newest employee, huh?”

Castiel’s excitement dimmed; he frowned, kneeling beside Dean. “Dean, what happened? You’re all scruffy. Who hurt you?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it, work stuff— Tell us about the dogs, cheer me up.”

Castiel brightened again, though his wary eyes stayed on the red scratches along Dean’s cheek, then drifted to Sam’s hand, still pressing the peas in place.

“It was amazing,” Castiel said, breathily. His hand scrunched in Meebo’s fur, letting her lick him. “They have so many dogs – _so_ many. I went out walking with five of them – can you even _believe_ that? Five dogs, all at once.” He laughed to himself, sitting more comfortably on the floor, resting his side on Sam’s outstretched leg, facing Dean. “I’m getting to learn their names. Poirot is going back to his owners tomorrow, but we had a good time today. He likes his biscuits soggy.”

Dean let out a soft laugh, shutting his eyes.

“And the place is so clean!” Castiel seemed overjoyed. “There’s a delightful woman named Eileen who works there... oh, she has to be the _happiest_ person I’ve ever met. It’s no wonder, really; dogs have nothing but love to give, it’s impossible to feel sad amongst them all, _even_ the ones who howl because they miss their owners. Eileen understands all their needs without them having to speak – or her having to hear them, obviously, since she’s deaf – and somehow—? I think she does the same for me. She asked! She asked if I was okay with a hug before she offered one! Like you do, Sam. And you,” Castiel touched Dean’s knee adoringly. “Everything is _so_ wonderful! Each dog has its own sleeping spot, and there’s a big glass room where they all play together – I just lay down and there were dogs all over me, they wanted to sleep on me, and play with me, and— Dean—” Castiel was clearly beside himself with enthusiasm. “Dogs are so _kind_ , and _full_ of love.”

He flopped backwards, laughing, and Meebo flumped alongside him so Cas could give her a squeeze. “But you’re my favourite dog,” Castiel promised her, speaking into her ear. “The best dog.”

All of a sudden, Castiel popped back up, glancing unsurely at Dean’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Dean pursed his lips, eyes peeking towards Sam with a quick smile. Sam eased away, and Dean held his own ice pack. “I’m good, actually,” Dean said, nodding, sitting up a bit more. “I, uh... had a productive day.”

“Out in ‘the field’, as you say,” Castiel said. “Catching criminals.”

“One in particular,” Dean smirked. He hesitated, hoping he could word this revelation so it wouldn’t upset Castiel. He decided to just be as straightforward as possible. “His name was Alistair.”

Castiel was startled. The name must’ve brought back some ugly memories.

Dean licked his lips, head down. “He fit the description you gave our sketch artist. And what you told me. Slimy guy, nasal voice. Scratchy beard, pale as the freaking moon. We booked him with grand theft – pinched someone’s wristwatch at knifepoint. Turned out that thing had a street value of a couple thousand. Call from a pawn shop pinged someone’s radar – ended up being me and Tony who took him down.” A sly smile spread over Dean’s face, and he chuckled. “Car chase, street fight – you don’t need the details.”

“Dean, come on,” Sam scoffed. “We need _all_ the details.”

Dean shook his head, feeling a squelching shame creep up from his belly. It was so tempting to lie...

“Look, I could make it sound fascinating... but... truth is...”

He took a deep breath, then admitted, “I drove down there. Alistair was backing his butt-ugly Jeep out of a back-alley. I swerve in with the Impala to stop him, right – but his brake lights flash and he’s outta the car, takes off running—” Dean jabbed a finger forward, indicating a straight run up the alleyway. “I leap over his Jeep – one foot on the bumper, skid my ass over the roof, down off the hood, _Hazzard_ style. Hit the ground running, barely two steps behind him.”

“And you had a fight?” Castiel prompted, expectantly.

Dean’s lips parted. “Uh. Sort of.”

“Sort of,” Castiel repeated.

Dean cleared his throat, lifting the packet of peas to glance at his sore shoulder. “I jumped on him from behind. Flattened him to the ground. Held him there while Tony cuffed him.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Dean said, frowning at his lap. “My job ain’t like you see in the movies, Cas. I try to spice it up a bit, but... you know... there’s not much flavour to start with. That was still more action than I’ve had in months.” He sulked, helpless to resist adding, “In more way than one.”

Castiel swallowed. “How did you get hurt?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “Heh. Took my shoulder out jumping over the Jeep. Scratched my face up hitting the ground. Least I can say is that Alistair hit the ground harder.”

The smallest smirk made it to Castiel’s face. “You did a good job.”

Dean blinked. “Did I?”

Castiel’s warm hand gripped Dean’s knee, thumb stroking. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re so afraid of coming home with a dull story, Dean. You defeated a bad man. You avenged me, in a way. You don’t need to pretend your achievement was something it wasn’t – there was no car chase, there was no fight. That doesn’t lessen the final result: success.” His hand rose to caress Dean’s scabbing cheek, making it twinge.

Castiel’s heat moved into Dean’s personal space, lingering upon his face as his lips kissed the ache away. “You don’t need to impress anyone with exaggerations, not once you’re at home. You’ll always be my hero, Dean,” he promised. “Thank you for telling the truth.”

Dean blushed. “Ah... Okay. Awesome.”

Sam patted Dean’s thigh. “I’mma see about that band-aid you asked for.”

As Sam got up, Dean called after him, “How ‘bout you, Sammy? Any good work stories?”

Sam got a band-aid from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, unpeeling the backing as he returned. “All my stories are depressing. Grief counsellor, remember. Dead people and crying relatives, all day.”

Dean gave a grim smile as Sam stroked his face with a disinfectant wipe before sticking on the band-aid. “Thanks.”

“The best I can say,” Sam said, sitting down again, “is that sometimes...” His eyes went to Castiel, and he smiled. “I see people get better. They find joy again, in some way or another. It doesn’t take away the grief, or the bad memories – it’s kind of impossible to do that – but it helps them to handle the trials with grace.”

Castiel nodded, shutting his eyes as he buried his chin in Meebo’s black fur. “It does help.” He took a deep breath, eyes full of life and happiness as he gazed at Dean, then Sam. “The support of a loving few... Yeah. It helps more than I ever could’ve imagined.”

• · • · ♥ · • · •

In Sam and Dean’s apartment building—

No. Wait. In _their_ apartment building—

Good.

Castiel smiled.

In their apartment building, the laundry room was a floor below the rest of their abode, shared with a few other people. They had their own washing machine in there, and twice a week, Castiel took it upon himself to do Sam and Dean’s laundry alongside his own. Of all the chores designated ‘housework’, the laundry was his favourite.

Only, this time, he got down to the laundry room to find the light switch already pulled, the extractor fan running, the shutter on the window drawn open to let in a rectangle of sunshine, and Sam Winchester already there, draping plaid shirts on the clotheslines strung across the ceiling. He was so tall that he didn’t even need to stand on the stool to reach.

“Hello,” Castiel said, side-stepping into the room, hugging the laundry crate on his hip. “You don’t usually come down here.”

“It’s true,” Sam smiled, giving a soft “ _ahh_ ” as he let his arms drop to his sides. “But where else would I catch you alone now that Dean’s home?”

“You wanted to talk to me,” Castiel surmised, setting the laundry basket atop the machine, pulling things out to separate old cotton items from towels. He never bothered with darks and lights; everything was faded from years of use, and only the towels needed a hot wash.

“I just had one question.” Sam was quiet for a while, reaching up to squeeze-check if his own clothes were dry. He eventually looked over at Castiel, and asked, “How are you doing, Cas?”

Castiel grinned. “I spent my day surrounded by dogs, and a woman who reveals all the dogs’ secrets aloud when she pets them. I feel... monumental.” He lifted his eyes to Sam, hoping the zing of happiness inside him was blatantly visible.

Sam laughed gently. “I mean in general. How are things? Better?”

Castiel sobered a little, allowing Sam to pry deeper than surface level. It wasn’t all exhilaration and a big smile.

But even then, Castiel nodded. He lifted Dean’s t-shirt featuring Rhodey from _Iron Man_ , and dropped the shirt straight into the machine.

A sense of quiet came over Castiel, and he stilled, hands on the edge of the laundry basket. He exhaled, looking back over his shoulder at Sam. “I don’t know about ‘better’,” he said. He swallowed, eyes lowering. “But I’m—” he hesitated, but said the word that came up instinctively: “content.”

Returning to the task, Castiel pulled out large items, turning them inside out, dropping them into the drum. Castiel saw there was only underwear left, so he upturned the crate and let everything fall in.

And then he was sure: “I’m as close to happy as I’ve ever been, Sam.” His smile grew. “I have friends who care about me, I have a dog – I have a family. While I might not reach my goal for a long time, I’m working towards true independence, and financial security.” His smile became tense, for some reason self-conscious about admitting these things aloud. “I have a – a sense of personal safety, now. With no obligation to provide something I don’t want to provide. I’ve never had any of those things before.”

He swallowed, needing a moment to prepare before he finished, quietly, “And – the empty feeling, the sadness I always felt...? It’s gone. I’m not _lonely_ any more.”

Lowering the washing machine’s lid, Castiel paused again. He turned, facing his friend. “Really, I don’t know how to say it. I have everything I want, need, could ever wish for. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t—” his eyes rose, tearful. “It’s unreal. And _so_ real.”

He breathed, anxiety tingling in his stomach. “I wanted to design houses, Sam. I still want to, because that idea feels solid – if that makes sense. I worked for that. I planned for that. I held that in my mind as my end goal, my reason for carrying on, for years, all the time I worked for Eve. That was my last sliver of hope, that whole time: someday I’d be free to design houses. So much of my debt amassed _because_ of that dream, that tangible, ever-so-close dream. And now—?”

He rested a curled fist against his forehead, head bowed. “What if I don’t want that any more? Am I betraying myself, wanting something so different?”

“Different, as in—?”

“Dogs,” Castiel smiled. “I want to go to work, and look after dogs. Not people. I’m done with people. I have all the people I could ever want right here.” He gave Sam a determined look. “I want this to be my life. Go to work, and come home to you.”

“Dogs and family,” Sam said.

Castiel’s smile spilled throughout him like a sunbeam. “Dogs and family,” he repeated. He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll design houses on the side.”

Sam grinned, approaching to pat Castiel on the arm. “I’ll get you a sketchbook and an architect's metal ruler, how does that sound?”

Castiel held Sam’s gaze, beaming. “Okay. For Christmas.”

“Better?” Sam said again.

Castiel thought about it, then nodded. “Better.”

With a soft laugh, Castiel reached up on his slippered tiptoes, plucking some of his new underwear off the clothesline. “Would you believe the clothing company sent the wrong thing?” he uttered, showing Sam a pair of black cotton briefs, with a small bow front and centre. “I ordered plain cotton boxers. I waited weeks for the package to reach my P.O. box, but the police delayed the arrival – so by the time my order got to me, I needed new underwear so badly that I can’t find it in me to care any more.”

Sam hummed a laugh, seeing what Castiel held.

“At least they fit,” Castiel uttered, reaching to pluck the rest of the panties down. “Dean’s boxers are all wrong on me. And yours are _much_ too big.”

“You’re really going to wear those?” Sam asked, squinting and smiling.

Castiel pursed his lips. “They look fine on me, and they’re comfortable. They’re no less practical than boxers, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

With all six pairs of panties now in his hand, Castiel stared at them, pondering. “Hm.”

“What?” Sam asked.

Castiel gulped, looking back. The sight of Sam’s hazel-green eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair verged on majestic, illuminated from the side by the sun. Light grazed the inner cores of individual hairs, making each shine like gold. Sam was handsome, like Dean, but somehow his face didn’t evoke the same molten feelings in Castiel.

With that exact thought in mind, Castiel managed to express, “I have an income; by this time next week I’ll be covering my share of the rent. The three of us agreed everything you’ve given me up until now is... forgotten. Clean slate. I owe Dean nothing, now.”

Sam nodded, curious to hear more.

A washing-powder-scented breath wafted through Castiel, cleansing away all doubt. “I owe him nothing... and I still want to give myself to him.”

It took a moment before Sam realised what that meant. “Oh.” He blinked rapidly, lowering his eyes.

“I want to make love again,” Castiel murmured, voice low and guttural. He smiled to himself, thumbing at his new underwear. “I need a shower first, I smell like dogs, but – perhaps tonight. I know he’s horny, he starts humping me and whimpering in his sleep.”

Sam chuckled, hand running back through his hair. “Uh. Alright. TMI, Cas. Way, way, waaay too much information. Wow. Maybe it’s time we got you a different therapist. I really didn’t need or _want_ to know that?” He breathed out through narrowed lips, then teased, “But on that note – d’ya think maybe you’re forgetting something...?”

Castiel squinted at him. Then his eyebrows rose. “Oh. Do you have any condoms I can use?”

Sam laughed, palming his forehead. “I meant me, Cas. Where am I gonna be?”

“Oh.” Castiel fidgeted. “Is the living room too close for you?”

Sam’s mouth slowly slid open. “Yeah, Cas. Like, three blocks, a park, and a river too close. I get that you and me successfully forged a friendship, but – there’s _boundaries_ associated with that. Not least because you’re dating my brother.” He laughed again, eyes shut, face turned down, brow crinkled as he smiled. “I’ll go see a movie at the open-air theatre, take Meebo on a long walk, I dunno.” He pushed off the sideboard he leant on, clapping Castiel on the back. “I hope you... get lucky. Have fun. Whatever it is you’re expecting.”

“An intensive emotional, physical, and spiritual exchange with the added bonus of sexual gratification,” Castiel answered.

“Right.” Sam grunted, apparently itching to leave. “Condoms are in a box under the bathroom sink,” he said, with a tense smile. “‘Kay I gotta—” He swung two fingers towards the laundry room door. “Yup. See ya. Good talk.”

He left in a rush.

Castiel smirked, only able to think about how much he looked forward to tonight. He turned around, set the washing machine up to run, then continued collecting dry clothes down off the line. He smiled as he pulled down his blue plushie dog, pegged by its floppy ear, its red felt tongue poking out of its stitched mouth. Meebo had stolen the toy from Castiel’s bed and _slobbered_ on it, so it had needed a wash. Castiel sniffed it: it smelled clean and fresh now.

“Go on, into the basket with you,” Castiel said to it, watching it leap from his hand, straight into the sky-blue crate.

He carried on balling items up; each time he stood back, and tossed things one by one to join the plushie dog.

“He shoots – blam, a straight drop! Aaaah,” Castiel laughed, throwing more clothes into the basket. “Novak passes to Winchester, Winchester to Novak – he goes for the hoop—” Flop, a pair of panties! “He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

He threw up his arms, holding his own hands and shaking them, showing his gratitude to the invisible spectators. He grinned like he hadn’t done in years; _Space Jam_ played in his mind, the squeak of basketball shoes on a polished lightwood court flooding his memory.

When he relaxed, his smile was permanent. Over the years, he’d often missed playing basketball. The recollection always came with a heavy nostalgia, sadness, a feeling of loss. He was too old. Too tired. He’d come to associate the game with social isolation, as his teammates ignored him off the court, he never had a dog buddy to practise with, and he’d lost his parents the same year he played for his school, then the emotional disruption cost him the chance to attend state championships.

But now? He just wanted to toss underwear into a plastic basket, and score every time. He placed his hands on the basket, wishing for a jangling chain and a backboard that simply wasn’t there...

Perhaps it was time he played another game. Just for fun. Winchester, Winchester, Novak, and K9. After all, this was to be his life, now. He may as well make it what he wanted. Dogs, cuddles – architecture, just for kicks... and basketball.

His new underwear was hidden in the middle of the basket he carried back upstairs.

Like an awful lot of things in Castiel’s recent life, the unexpected developments turned out to be blessings. Somehow he’d gotten stuck with this underwear, and Castiel unashamedly _liked_ it.

...Maybe Dean would like it too.


	13. The Magical Art of Lovemaking

Through the narrowed opening of the study door, Castiel watched Dean wander past, drying his hair on a towel with frayed edges. He’d changed clothes after taking a shower – he wore baggy grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt, barefoot. There was no band-aid on his cheek now, but the scratches looked partially healed. He ambled beyond Castiel’s field of vision, hidden behind the door.

Castiel waited...

Waited...

He heard the kitchen faucet running, a glass filling up. Dean returned, towel slung around his shoulders, sipping water out of his glass. He reached for the TV remote, standing in front of the box to switch it on.

The blare of a newscaster’s voice filled the room, and with repeated jabs to the remote, Dean brought the volume back down. He returned his nose to the glass, tipping it to drink.

Castiel eased the door closed, letting out a breath. Dean would come in here in a minute, probably to ask if Cas wanted to watch a movie tonight. They always did something as a family on Friday nights, and it was about that time. Castiel had a minute alone.

Settling his nerves with a deep breath, Castiel took off his borrowed t-shirt, tossing it over the little plushie dog so it couldn’t watch. Unbuttoned, pushed down, he let his jeans crumple on the floor.

Now naked, Castiel reached for a black pair of panties from his laundry pile. But his hand wavered...

Instead he reached for a more colourful version – black all over, lace at the sides, sky blue trim. Dean liked sky blue.

Castiel put them on, pulling them up his thighs with a back-and-forth sling of his thumbs. They snapped to his hipbones, putting a fine, delicate pressure all around. Castiel reached between his legs and adjusted himself, so his junk sat forward in the panties rather than hanging below him in the narrow crotch.

Swallowing – still nervous, not sure why – Castiel got onto the bed and lay down. He tried to relax. Spread out. He slipped one hand under his pillow, the other on his hip. Both under the pillow. Both out at his sides.

The anxious flutter in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He was sure this was the right time. Sam was out, Meebo was with him – Castiel couldn’t waste the evening. He had to get _over_ this worry. What was he worried about, anyway? This wouldn’t be a new experience, in any way at all.

He told himself he was being silly. But even his attempts to stifle his panicky feeling were fruitless. He wanted to crawl under the blanket and pretend to be asleep, so Dean would see him, not want to disturb him, and would sleep in his own bed tonight. He hadn’t slept there in weeks. Sam was using Dean’s room as a study now.

Screwing up his face, Castiel forced back tears, hands clawing over his face. Why did he have to be like this? He hadn’t had sex in months, why did the mere idea of being touched that way make him nauseous? This was _Dean_. Dean wasn’t like anyone else. He wouldn’t just make it feel good, he’d make it _fun_. What was the problem?

“ _Cas?_ ” came a shout from the living room. Castiel parted his hands, feeling a flip of apprehension in his belly. More brightly, interestedly, Dean called, “ _Cas, come look at this. Quick!_ ”

Castiel got up from the bed, overtaken by curiosity. He reached for his clothes, but spotted a faster option: he grabbed his trenchcoat from the back of the door and swung it on. Thank goodness for Sam actually putting things back where they belonged.

Belt tied, body covered from clavicle to calves, Castiel left the bedroom and joined Dean by the TV.

“Look,” Dean said, setting down his glass of water and turning up the volume.

On the screen, a newscaster with dark skin and tied-back dreadlocks spoke with a serious look on her face, her tone neutral. “ _—six-fifteen this morning, reports from the staff at the time indicated they had no idea the break-in was taking place._ ”

The video feed cut to some hazy green security camera footage of what looked like the barred entrance to a vault, viewed from above and to the right. At first it showed nothing but a static image, but then a figure emerged: a pale woman in a floor-length dress, with exquisitely curled long hair. Pausing four feet away from the gate, she raised one arm, fingers spread – and without exerting any other movement, the gate _blasted_ off its hinges with a force of sparks, and the woman strode forward, two figures behind her.

Castiel made a noise of scathing disbelief.

“Right?” Dean chuckled.

“ _—thieves have been identified,_ ” the newscaster said, “ _Rowena MacLeod, an innkeeper reported missing – if records are to be believed – a total of seventy-eight years ago from her hometown in Scotland—_ ”

Castiel’s jaw went slack in his astonishment: on the screen appeared the image of a woman he remembered, a forty-something-year-old redhead who’d held his hand, soothing him in peculiar Scottish words as he threw up in a bucket she held for him. In the picture on TV, she wore all her makeup; it appeared to be a photo she’d taken herself.

“ _—her accomplices: Bela Talbot, a professional thief, best known for her robberies of museums and jewellery manufacturers across the United Kingdom and Europe—_ ”

“Bela,” Dean repeated, hand gripping the remote control a bit too tightly as he stared at Bela’s greasy-haired mugshot. “I _knew_ there was something fishy about those doctors, none of them had nametags...”

A third and fourth image appeared on screen, these two side-by-side. “ _—and as her surname remains a mystery, the third suspect is known only as ‘Clea’, apparently sharing her name and several other traits with a character in the_ Doctor Strange _comics, a serial published by Marvel._ ”

Dean clicked his fingers and pointed knowingly at the TV, jaw clenched.

Castiel let out a stunned breath.

“ _—Reports indicate that the three women entered the building without setting off a single alarm, and removed nearly eighty thousand dollars in unmarked cash. This incident comes in a string of similar, almost_ identical _incidents across the country, each targeting massive corporations—_ ”

Again, they showed the footage of Rowena blasting the gate away – only Castiel realised with a jolt that this was a different gate, in a different building, during a different heist.

“ _—after the most recent of which, they made their escape in a stolen Red Cross truck._ ”

Dean wheezed, a half-curled fist on his temple. “Motherfucker.”

Now on screen, a frazzled manager in a suit stepped up to a microphone in the street, police lights flashing behind him. “ _It was witchcraft,_ ” he said, voice breaking. “ _Witchcraft! They couldn’t have done that! It’s just not possible, we have the highest – the best security in the world—_ ”

The newscaster smiled, cutting the clip short. “ _That response from Gerald Blake, CEO of El Diablo Tobacco, a subset of Red Devil Industries: a company who recently came under public fire for promoting animal cruelty in an online advertisement._ ”

The newscaster turned to her left, smiling at her fellow anchor as the camera panned out. “ _So tell me,_ ” she said, cheerfully, “ _do you think it was witchcraft?_ ”

The other anchor laughed, adjusting his overlarge glasses on his bulbous nose, “ _Do I think something supernatural was involved here? No, come on, I think it was all smoke and mirrors. A bit of dynamite crammed in the gate hinges, some good theatrical timing—_ ”

Dean muted the TV, letting out a long, stressed breath. “Right under our damn noses. Christ. I was so distracted by your freaking concussion, I completely missed that they were total phonies. So much for a cop’s heightened vigilance, huh?”

Castiel fretted, fingers pulling gently on the knot of his trenchcoat. “Dean, do you—” he looked nervously at Dean, “Do you think it was magic?”

Castiel expected him to laugh. But Dean stared back for a while, thinking about it.

Castiel thoughts went beyond what they’d just seen on TV. He went back to the start, when his life changed so dramatically: falling in love in a single night. Then, their second chance: the ‘mistaken’ phone call – to Dean, of all people. Then their dog, who appeared out of nowhere with a personal agenda, always just the slightest bit too astute. Deep down, this always felt a little too perfect, a little too ideal. Maybe it was Castiel’s own doubt seeping in, in a big way: he couldn’t possibly deserve a life this peaceful. Luck this good was all but impossible to come by. Such tidy coincidences ought not be _feasible_ , not in the real world.

And yet...?

Dean eventually scoffed, releasing their tension. “Pffff,” he said, waving away the idea. “‘Course not. C’mon. Magic ain’t real.”

“But Missouri...?”

They locked eyes again.

And again, Dean shook his head. “She’s just... super insightful. And a bit eccentric.”

“Yeah,” Castiel agreed, nodding. His eyes turned to the TV newsreaders, who had moved on to a story about an overweight koala bear. “Yeah, life is weird like that. Human beings are incredible in ways neither of us could even _begin_ to fathom. It probably _was_... smoke and mirrors.”

Understandably shaken, Dean pressed the tip of the remote control to his bottom lip, eyes on the TV. “We have info on them,” he murmured, half to himself. “Details about their whereabouts – that overpass, the Red Cross van. We got a feel for their personalities, sort of. They’re still out there. Running around, causing havoc. Emptying vaults. Some officer’s got their work cut out for them – the cops could do with our witness statements. We could help catch these witches.”

Castiel shifted in place, folding his arms over his trenchcoat. Quietly, he said, “They saved my life, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean put down the remote beside his half-empty glass. “And if it wasn’t for them, God knows what would’ve happened to you. Cupboard at the back of a Gas-N-Sip, concussion... desperate to get back to work. Hell – who’s to say you’d have even made it out of that construction yard alive.”

Castiel reached to touch Dean’s stomach, feeling his sturdy warmth through the cotton. “If they hadn’t called you...”

A troubled silence befell them.

And they embraced it, knowing it spoke volumes.

“I hope they get away with it,” Dean said, looking Castiel in the eyes. “Swear to God, Cas, I hope they get a happily ever after. Find a magic talking cat, buy a castle, and turn trespassers into frogs to their heart’s content.”

Castiel smiled sideways, feeling a twinkle in his eyes. “I hope so too.”

With a smirk, Dean glanced down at Castiel’s coat. “Soooo... what are you all dressed up for?” Before Castiel could answer, Dean added, “Oh, by the way, did Sam tell you he was going out? He just clipped Meebo on her leash and was like ‘see ya later’ and left! Took my car and everything.” With a disgruntled huff, Dean picked up the TV remote again, changing the channel.

“I think Sam wanted to give us some privacy,” Castiel remarked, hand sliding up Dean’s chest, snaking around the back of his neck. He pressed in, chest-to-chest with Dean.

Dean gazed at him, lips slowly parting. “Uh?”

With a sneaky smile, Castiel set a soft, tenacious kiss upon Dean’s lips. Dean’s breath caught; one hand rested on Castiel’s hip, fingers slowly clenching in the material.

When Castiel finally pulled back, sticky-lipped, Dean nudged his nose after him, wanting him back. “What’s this about?” Dean murmured, eyes bright as he stared.

Castiel’s smile turned to a grin, and he tipped his head seductively. One hand whipped the knot out of his trenchcoat tie, then separated the halves, showing himself to Dean.

Dean looked down, colour rising to his cheeks. “Oh,” he mouthed, barely a sound at all.

His gaze lifted tentatively, unconvinced whether or not this was a true invitation.

“Let’s make love,” Castiel said softly, fingers rounding Dean’s ear. Dean’s attention remained steady on Castiel’s face, hopeful, while Castiel admired his lashes, his freckles, his lips. And, finally, he returned to revel in the astonishment in Dean’s eyes. “Come on, Dean,” Castiel encouraged. “I know you’ve been patient. I’m ready now. Make love to me again.”

Dean’s lips quirked up into an excited grin, though he still seemed uncertain. “You’re sure? ‘Cause I’m not expecting— I mean, I’d be fine if you weren't— You know you don’t _have_ to, right—”

Castiel nodded, leaning in for another kiss, this one sultry, burning both of them. “Please,” Castiel urged against Dean’s lips. “I _want_ to.” He inhaled... exhaled... then nodded, at last sure of himself. “I want to.”

Quiet now, Castiel turned his chin down, hiding his eyes against Dean’s jaw, breath on his throat. “I’ve never _wanted_ like this before...” He lifted his face, gazing solemnly at Dean.

Dean sank forward to kiss Castiel’s lips, both hands taking him gently around the face. As he pulled back, he said, plaintively, “Ain’t nothing wrong with wanting something, Cas.” There was absolute conviction in his eyes, the heat of his words rushing against Castiel’s chin.

Castiel grinned, taking Dean’s hand and lifting it to his lips, kissing his scratched knuckles.

One more kiss on the lips, quick and smiley. “C’mon,” Dean said, sweeping away to turn off the TV. He tugged Castiel by the hand and turned for the bedroom.

Castiel overtook him, leading Dean, walking backwards, one hand on Dean’s face. They smooched, wandering towards the doorway – bumping against the door jamb, pausing there... kissing.

Kissing, smiling... kissing again.

“Mmh,” Castiel murmured, eyes half-lidded. He took Dean gently by the back of the neck, pulling him into his – _their_ room. Dean followed eagerly, hips against Castiel, unwilling to let their crotches separate. His hand smacked the wall to turn the light on; the daylight had faded, the city outside was brightening. On Dean went, nipping and pecking Castiel’s chin, closing the door behind them—

He took Castiel by the waist, urging him to get closer, until Dean backed up against the door. Castiel put pressure down his body, firmest in the hips: Dean moaned, the sound caught behind his teeth as Castiel pulled another kiss from his lips.

Dean let out a slow breath, lowering his chin as their kiss broke. He looked at Castiel with desire beyond anything Castiel had witnessed in his lifetime – this wasn’t lust. It wasn’t surface-deep; Dean didn’t seem particularly interested in Castiel’s physical form – he didn’t even look down, despite Castiel’s coat hanging open to show off his body. Dean was solely captivated by Castiel’s eyes, in a manner so brutally _intimate_ that it left Castiel hesitant.

“Cas...” Dean thumbed his jaw, steadying Castiel by holding his other hand. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hm?” Castiel flickered in over awareness, finally settling as he saw the care and concern in Dean’s green gaze. He nodded. “Yeah.” He gulped, hand taking hold of Dean’s wrist beside his face. “Yeah, I’m... I’m okay.” He let out a breath, nosing closer. “Kiss me again.”

Dean did. He kissed softly. Castiel heard the tender squish of it, the starlight-twinkle _i‘k_ of the smallest air bubbles bursting between their lips. Castiel let Dean guide him, thumb curved behind his ears, hips driving him a slow step backward into the room.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, first against Castiel’s lips, then again, an inch away. “Relax – I got you, Cas.” He took Castiel by the small of his back and the nape of his neck—

“Oh,” Castiel gasped in surprise, hands gripping Dean’s black t-shirt as the world around him turned. He was weightless, then too aware of his weight, feeling all of it in Dean’s hands – and then he was taken by the bed, lain upon the bedspread like a fallen angel, trenchcoat either side of him like wings, toes still on the carpet.

Dean held his eyes so enchantingly; Castiel wouldn’t look away.

Dean ran his hand along Castiel’s shoulder, then down, holding his heart for a while. Castiel smiled a little, knowing Dean enjoyed his heartbeat. His hand curled around Dean’s wrist again, initially craving more contact, but when he felt Dean’s pulse, he stayed there, body sparkling with pleasure – and joy.

There was no need to wonder why Dean’s heartbeat made him happy; it simply _did_. As it should.

Now Dean let his hand trail on; he stroked past Castiel’s pointed hip, putting pressure on the softer flesh. They both quietly appreciated the goodness of having something to press into: Castiel had gained a healthy amount of weight since being here, eating enough. He liked being soft – because in contrast, he hated being hungry.

Though he still didn’t look down, Dean’s fingertips roamed the band of Castiel’s underwear. He caressed the frilled edge, but moved on quickly. He took Castiel under the knees, lifting him and swivelling him all the way onto the bed.

As Dean climbed onto the mattress, knees settling either side of Castiel’s body, Castiel stretched out, letting himself fall into an easy position, one leg crooked, one straight; one hand behind his head, one up to stroke through Dean’s hair.

Castiel felt... sexy. Attractive. He liked how Dean looked at him, even though it made him shy.

“Yeah, you know it,” Dean murmured, grinning slightly as he kissed Castiel’s cheek. “I was gonna say you’re beautiful – but hell, I don’t need to, do I? You know damn well.”

Castiel laughed lowly, squirming so he could spread his legs, feeling a hot pulse of urgency between them. His eyes lingered on Dean’s freckled cheeks, a bashful smile curling his own lips. “Say it anyway,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean licked his lips, tilting his head, considering Cas as he considered his words. “Okay, this is gonna make me sound like a pretentious douchebag – fair warning – but...” he breathed in, and softly declared: “you’re like... honey. The most incredible, pure, _sweet_ thing nature ever made. Like... the universe put so much effort into you, you know?” He laughed, nuzzling against Castiel’s neck, making him laugh too. They canoodled, and struggled together, rolling in a hug that left Castiel’s body searing with delight. Dean chuckled, his voice raw, putting kisses on Castiel’s ear.

“Yeek—” Castiel shifted his head away. “No tongues in my ear, please.”

Dean snorted. “Hey, that was one-time-only. That special’s off the menu.” He laughed, bowing his head again to offer some more kisses, peppering the tender spot below Castiel’s ear.

“God,” Dean’s hot breath gushed against Castiel’s throat. “You are a miracle, you know that, Cas? My goddamn miracle.”

He pulled up, and Castiel’s laughter faded, seeing the energy in Dean’s gaze, how completely he _meant_ what he said.

“I love you,” Dean said to him. “Whatever comes next, Cas, just—” Dean lifted his eyes, maybe in prayer. He closed them a moment later.

With a breath, Dean met Castiel’s gaze once more. “Whatever obstacles come next... we’re gonna face them together. You ‘n me. And Sam. And— And I love you. Yeah, I keep sayin’ it, but I want you to know it so well you can’t ever forget, Cas. I love you.”

Castiel lifted his head just enough to kiss Dean’s lips before flopping back down. “And I, you, Dean.”

Dean’s grin was wonky, and terribly cute.

With a stroke of a hand, Castiel traced the muscles of Dean’s back, rippling all the way down his t-shirt. He reached the hem, then started back up, underneath. Dean’s breath caught, eyelids fluttering; his smirk became a slack smile, and a soft “ _Auh,_ ” escaped his mouth.

Castiel tried to take Dean’s t-shirt off for him, but it got stuck on the top of his head – they both guffawed, Dean headbutting Castiel’s shoulder, then struggling to get back off the bed to denude himself. With a grunt, he flung his t-shirt off, purposefully letting it flump into Castiel’s face. Castiel shoved it away with a grin, eyes shamelessly following Dean’s hands as he loosened his sweatpants.

The pants flopped down, bristling Dean’s leg hair, pooling in a grey cloth puddle at his feet. As Dean straightened, he took his cock and stroked it a few times; it was plump already, and the sound of his hand against it was sweeping, sweeping, sweeping, with the softest click of just-damp skin each time he let his foreskin slip back into place.

“Hmh, all riiight,” Dean sang, climbing back over Castiel, cock swinging. “Where were we? Oh yeah. Gettin’ naked. Quit ogling me and sit up, Cas. Badass as it is, the coat ain’t doing you any favours in this particular situation.”

Castiel hummed, pushing his torso upright, revelling in the small pleasure of Dean slipping his coat down off his shoulders, making it crumple behind him. Dean bent to decorate Castiel’s shoulders with blooming rosebud kisses, each of them gracious and dainty.

With a pleased sigh, Castiel lay back down, lifting one leg to hook over Dean’s ass, making him push his semi-erection against Castiel’s thick-swelling bulge. “Mhhm,” Castiel managed, allowing himself to hump upwards just once.

“Keen?” Dean asked, with a crooked, playful eyebrow.

“I th-think...” Castiel’s lips trembled. “I think I’m horny?”

Dean stared blankly for a moment, then laughed in an affectionate way. “Hard to recognise the first time, huh.”

“I knew I wanted you... physically _near_ me,” Castiel said, marvelling at the feeling, the ache, the hunger that wasn’t a craving for food. “I wanted to be kissed, and... squeezed. But—” He smiled brilliantly now, both hands twisting deeply in Dean’s hair, bringing his head down to offer a kiss. “Oh,” Castiel murmured, humming between kisses, smooching Dean’s forehead, temple, the bridge of his nose. “I want to be rocked, Dean. And pushed. And played with.”

Dean exhaled, every bit of his reverence all ashine in his eyes.

“Now, Dean,” Castiel uttered. “Fuck me _now_.”

“Wh—?” Dean faltered. “You mean, like, in the ass, or—?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Yes, there’s condoms and lubricant—” Castiel checked the room, eyes searching. “Oh, I hid them in the top drawer of Sam’s desk.”

Dean snorted, amused by that. He got off the bed again, and went to dig in the drawer, first bringing out the small plastic bottle of lube, then a couple of condom packets. While he was up, he went to the window and drew the mustard-yellow curtains shut, hiding their activities from prying eyes, and hiding the lights of other apartments from Castiel’s view. Now all he saw was the lampshade above him, an electric sun casting a ring of hazy shadow through its fabric shade.

Castiel breathed out, smiling, swirling with pleasure as he felt Dean’s warm mouth cover his sex organs, tongue prodding against the cotton. He drew his lips closed, like a toothless bite. “Panties...” Dean’s whisper was startling; it gave a rush of _sensation_ , breath flittering on the now-damp patch on the front.

Castiel swallowed. He adjusted his legs, lifting his head to look between his thighs and see Dean peering back, dark-eyed, deeply curious.

“I like them,” Castiel said. “They’re very comfortable. They feel more secure than men’s boxers or briefs. They hug in the right places.”

Dean’s lips twitched into a brief, uncertain smile. “D... Do you, uh... like seeing other people wearing them? Or...?”

Castiel squinted, unsure what Dean meant.

Dean gulped. “‘Cause – they’re cute, right?” He grinned, a little helplessly. “And I, um...” He fretted, eyes darting to the door, sobering for a moment. His eyes brightened once more, and he looked back in determination. “Wait here a second. Be right back.”

He fled the room.

Castiel sat up, turning towards the door. “Dean?”

“ _One second!_ ” Dean called from another room. Castiel heard cupboard doors opening, drawers thrust out on their runners, rummaging, rummaging, rummaging.

Castiel swung his legs off the bed, ears straining to listen. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“ _I just gotta— Hang on..._ ”

Boom, bump, tumble-tumble...

“ _Ha!_ ” Dean sounded exceedingly triumphant.

Grunting. A quiet huff of satisfaction, then a two-note giggle of glee.

Castiel waited patiently, a frown of curiosity sitting unmoved upon his face. He heard Dean’s slightly heavy breath, and bare feet padding on carpet as he approached – and a snap of elastic, most strangely.

Somehow it didn’t seem like a surprise when Dean entered the bedroom doorway, one shoulder slung against the frame, one arm stretching up and one hip cocked, stretching his body seductively. “Huh?” he asked, a shy yet smug grin playing on his lips. “What d’ya think?”

Castiel looked down, smiling as he registered that Dean now wore a pair of panties, which were an elegant dusky rose colour. The colour matched his lust-flushed lips and the blood in his cheeks. Of course, with the current swell of Dean’s penis, the panties were the slightest bit too small, straining in the front, giving rise to wrinkled mountains in the embroidered satin.

Dean pushed off the door frame and shut the door again, apparently satisfied with Castiel’s speechless gawking. “Mine ain’t so much for the practicality,” Dean admitted, setting one knee up on the bed beside Castiel. “More so I got somethin’ sexy to wear underneath when I dress up – suit ‘n tie, special occasions.”

He bit out a grin, teeth on his lower lip, and with that, he shoved Castiel in the chest to make him lie back. He mounted Castiel’s hips, fingering the sky-blue trim of the panties – snapping it, just to tease – and then Dean sat down on his cock. Castiel was sent reeling with physical shock as Dean shamelessly rubbed his satin-covered ass against Castiel, grunting, eyes down, mouth open, letting free sounds of pleasure – “Ah, ah, yeah—”

Castiel shook, mindless for a while, eyes half-closed, gazing lazily up at Dean as he rode without worldly cares, tiny thrills passing between them as they both grew fully erect. Dean touched himself through his panties, squeezing, craning his neck every few moments to look, hand sweeping to flatten the material. Castiel didn’t know what he was looking for, and barely had the brainpower to wonder. But soon Dean gave a little whimper, smiling, thumb touching the wet patch on his panties as it bled through.

“Mmmm,” Dean purred, flopping forward against Castiel now, hips thrusting so their erections bumped, sleek fabric between them. Grunts escaped Castiel’s throat, whole body _electrified_ by the embroidered texture on the satin, which he could feel even through his own underwear. His hands became hungry for Dean’s touch; he gripped Dean’s shoulder blades, feeling them work stiffly as Dean shifted his hips. “God, yes,” Dean murmured.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “Y- You were – going – to...?”

“Wha?” Dean glanced up. “Oh.” He grinned again, an attractive sparkle overtaking his already-pink cheeks. “Condoms, where... oh, here.”

Lips licked, Dean eased his way back off the bed. “You wanna do it right here? I could stand – or crouch, bed’s kinda low – and you lie on your back, edge of the mattress. Legs around me.”

“Okay,” Castiel replied, not caring. He just wanted to feel Dean get as close as he could get. ‘Inside’ would certainly cover that.

Dean smacked kisses on Castiel’s chest, while one hand caressed him through his panties. He started to pull them down, but only far enough that they clung to Castiel’s thighs, and he had to keep his thighs together, or he’d snap the fine elastic on the band. Dean took advantage of that; he gave a dastardly chuckle, binding Castiel’s ankles with one hand, then thrusting them up—

Castiel yelped, laughing as he was pressed like a sandwich, thighs against his chest. He felt Dean’s hand snake down his legs, leaving Castiel to hold onto his own thighs to keep them up. Now Dean knelt down on the carpet, thighs and torso erect, so his face was in line with Castiel’s lifted knees. His navel pressed to the edge of the bed, stomach just about brushing Castiel’s bare ass.

Dean bent to offer a kiss; his stubble scratched Castiel’s thigh – “G-ahaa,” Castiel cried, trembling. “Oh, that tickles, that tickles,” he started to laugh, almost shrieking as Dean rubbed his jaw there on purpose. “Dean— Dean! A-haa!”

Dean laughed on him, kissing the outer part of his thigh, peering past Castiel’s leg so they could make eye contact. Castiel beamed, eyes crinkled. Dean, holding his gaze, left another kiss on his leg.

“I’mma put my fingers in you,” Dean said. “Like you did for me, way back when.”

Castiel nodded. “All right. Be gentle, I’m much tighter than I used to be.”

Dean smirked. “Opposite to me.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Really, Dean?”

“What?” Dean shrugged. “I liked what you did. Why d’you think I bought myself some decent lube, huh?” He gave the supple skin behind Castiel’s knee a delicate bite, mouth wide. “Good news for you, too. Betcha I can find your prostate in thirty seconds.”

“I’m sure you could,” Castiel rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”

Dean cleared his throat, adjusting himself, then adjusting Castiel, swaying him by his thighs. Dean let his hand trail down, fingering the groove between Castiel’s legs, a sweep that left Castiel sizzling all over, a quiet mewl jumping unexpectedly from his mouth.

A blunt fingernail traced the wrinkles of Castiel’s anus, and Castiel whimpered, letting himself squirm in pleasure. Maybe the months away from sex had been better for him than he imagined: he’d never been this sensitive, nor this responsive – not without faking it, at least.

Dean rested his nose on the back of Castiel’s thigh, breath warm and humid against his leg. “Aah,” Castiel said, then laughed, hands clenching against his own leg. “Yes. Come on, Dean.”

Castiel heard the clip of Dean opening up the lubricant bottle – and suddenly the rose-coloured haze vanished, the hand on his leg wasn’t Dean’s, the room was cold, the sheets were crisp and smelled like bleach—

Castiel sat up, gasping for air, one hand _clenched_ in a fist in Dean’s hair, nails digging into Dean’s ear. Dean was yelping, but he wasn’t Dean, he was danger and pain and fear—

Castiel felt a hand on his cheek, tender despite its shaking...

He saw a wash of light; the lampshade above. He’d fallen backwards again, drained of energy and oxygen.

“Cas...”

“ _Cas_...”

“Talk to me, man. Breathe. Breathe, Cas. Come on. It’s all right. It’s fine. You’re—” A huffed breath. “You’re safe.” Softer, quieter, more upset... “You’re safe, Cas. It’s me. It’s just me.”

A firm hand on his forearm. A kiss on his cheek. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, Cas,” Dean promised. “I won’t hurt you.”

Castiel fought to breathe in a rhythm – any rhythm, even a too-fast one. He could barely get any air into him, this throat was tight like he was being strangled—

“Shhhhh,” Dean urged, the concern in the single hush making it obvious he was close to tears. “Breathe with me, Cas. Listen. Look at me. Look at me—?” Dean’s lips shivered into a fearful grin as Castiel met his eyes. Dean was blurry; Castiel was crying.

“In,” Dean said gently. “Deep breath.” He shut his mouth, inhaling deeply through his nose.

Castiel was gasping too much, couldn’t – couldn’t— He shook his head.

“It’s all right. Out. Slowly.” Dean breathed out anyway.

“In.” Dean inhaled again, hand finding Castiel’s, holding it. “Hold it... Out.”

This time Castiel let a breath go with him. It was shaken, and came out with a vocal sob, but it was still something.

“In.”

Castiel breathed in, and it stung him, brain flooding with oxygen, and finally he could see a bit more.

“Out.”

“It w— T-th-tht-h—”

“Sh-sh, don’t talk, don’t gotta explain. In.”

Castiel breathed in.

Castiel breathed out.

“Good,” Dean whispered. A real smile, this time. “Awesome. One more.”

Castiel breathed in.

Castiel breathed out, shut his eyes, and wept.

“It’s okay,” Dean said, bringing Castiel’s head up, holding him to his chest. “It’s okay.” He kissed the top of Castiel’s head. “You’re safe. We won’t do that any more. It’s okay, you’re not ready, and that’s okay. It’s all fine, Cas.”

Castiel wept, and wept, tears flowing from his eyes and onto Dean’s clutching hands, sticky on his chest. Dean just stroked his hair back and told him kind things, sweet things, things Castiel was glad to hear. They were true things, and that made them comforting. Not one word Dean spoke was an exaggeration or a lie.

“You’re safe,” Dean said, one more time.

Now Castiel wept in relief, not fear.

He was safe.

He was safe.

He was safe.

Dean climbed properly onto the bed, offering his arms. Castiel accepted his embrace, cuddling him close, sniffing against his throat. Dean kissed his temple and hushed him, not even grunting in complaint when Castiel squeezed too hard, desperate to feel his closeness, making sure he was real.

He’d been given this almighty gift. Dean Winchester, his saviour and protector. His companion, his lover. Castiel couldn’t bear the thought that whoever, or whatever had given him this man could take him away just as easily. For a split second, Castiel had lost him. He’d gone back to a world where Dean didn’t exist, wasn’t there to offer comfort. And it was unbearable.

“I love you,” Castiel sobbed as they lay down together, Castiel’s arm squeezing Dean’s torso to his own, fingers gripping Dean’s shoulder so tightly he could see the white marks. “I love you so much, I can’t imagine if— I can’t— P-Please don’t go—”

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean said, hushed and gentle, combing his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stroked and kissed Castiel until...

Eventually...

Castiel took a deep, deep breath, and let it go, finally calm.

He managed a small, weak smile, and Dean returned it like the moon reflecting the sun – only the light grew, the smile grew, and Castiel found the strength within him to grin back.

“There we go,” Dean chuckled, thumb skimming Castiel’s chin. “Get some smile endorphins back in ya.”

Castiel swallowed. He was dehydrated now.

“You wanna go watch a movie?” Dean asked. “Get some popcorn going in the machine, pull Sam’s woolly blankets off his bed. Maybe marathon some _Looney Tunes_ , you love that. Yeah? How ‘bout it?”

Castiel shrugged a tired shoulder. “I still want to make love.”

Dean balked. “Cas—”

Castiel set a finger over Dean’s lips. “Please.” They were both silent and still. “Please,” Castiel said again. “I need to know I can.”

Dean looked immensely wary.

Castiel’s soft look turned to a glare. “I’m stronger than this, Dean,” he forced out. “If it makes you feel guilty to want me, please set that aside – I need to know I still have the capacity for pleasure.”

“Not all at once, Cas.”

“Yes,” Castiel said firmly. “All at once. Right now.”

Even after ten, twenty seconds of hard staring, Dean couldn’t help but lower his eyes and smile. “I, uh. I could blow you?”

“Just kisses, and your hands,” Castiel said, surging his hips against Dean’s. “And your body. And look me in the eyes, I need to—” He shivered, pushing away fear. “I need to know it’s you. And not someone else.”

Dean understood. He looked dismayed that _those_ were Castiel’s thoughts, but he did understand.

So he held Castiel against him, kissing his neck. He pulled back often, making eye contact. He’d smile, giving Castiel a nice, soft kiss. And then he’d return to scattering his clavicle with smooches, muttering poignant statements against him, words meant only for him. _Beloved... my beloved... Cas..._

Soon Castiel began to squirm again, body tensing, and he shut his eyes, grinning in relief. _Oh_ , it felt good. He let himself become unstitched, unravelled; he allowed vulnerability. Relaxed muscles, spread legs, out-loud moans, each one a syllable of Dean’s name. Clenching toes; a twitching cock, pushing on Dean’s panties.

Dean never once tried to touch himself. He just poured his love and affection onto Castiel, in kisses, and promises, and silly little snickers of laughter in funny places, both of them flinching as they accidentally tickled each other.

Eyes locked, Dean sucked pretty marks onto Castiel’s hipbone; he sank his wide tongue against Castiel’s navel; he dotted his belly with kisses, and gave him big, friendly nuzzles with his cheek like Meebo liked to do. He flushed so hot that Castiel’s felt his blood rushing under his skin.

Castiel played with Dean’s hair, adoring his constant dark gaze, his touch, his heat, and the _care_ he took, the way he was never afraid to touch but would always ask first – “Thighs? How ‘bout nipples? Oh, you like that, huh?” – and would pull away if Castiel’s expression changed, if Dean noticed even the tiniest smudge of doubt in his eyes.

This was what Castiel needed. He wished he didn’t have to be handled like a fragile flower, but he stopped wishing to be stronger after a while. He was strong enough. Dean didn’t mind—

No, it wasn’t even that he didn’t _mind_. He loved this. Dean loved this.

Dean wanted to love Castiel like this, to care for him and make sure he was safe, and happy, and loved. This was Dean’s pleasure too. The proof: the shiny wet spot of pre-come on his panties only grew. Huh! As if Castiel needed any more proof beyond the look in Dean’s eyes and the confidence in his hands.

Castiel stopped wishing to be stronger. He lay at ease, made comfortably weak in Dean’s hands, and allowed him to worship him with kisses, with his mouth and his hands and his body.

“I love you,” came a breath from Castiel’s lips. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean simply kissed his ribs, fingers counting the dips between. “Mmh,” he said, smacking a kiss to Castiel’s chest. “I love each and every one,” he said, with a blessedly careless smile. “Every rib. Every freckle.” He kissed the most prominent freckle over Castiel’s nipple. “Every damn breath that comes outta your lungs, Cas. I love it.” He kissed Castiel’s cheek.

He waited there for a moment, breathing out. He looked down, and Castiel watched his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at what his hand did.

“Love your middle,” Dean said quietly. “How it rumbles when you’re hungry. Tellin’ me it’s time to get up and make you somethin’ nice.”

Castiel laughed, head lolling to follow Dean down, lowering to kiss his stomach.

“Love these random hairs,” Dean said, running the tip of his nose back and forth through Castiel’s happy trail. “And this would-be forest.” He rested his cheek on Castiel’s hip bone. “No wonder my shower razor goes blunt so quick.”

Castiel grinned. Dean glanced up at him, just to wink.

“Love this thing,” Dean said, kissing Castiel’s fat erection, one palm holding it steady. “Weird happy sausage.”

Castiel laughed, throwing one arm over his face. Dean surged up to lie beside him, fingers playing on his skin – stomach, then chest, then laying his hand flat on his heart.

Castiel peeked at Dean from under his arm, glad to see sparks of joy in Dean’s eyes.

“Love you,” Dean said once more, leaning to kiss Castiel’s lips. He pulled up, gazing into his eyes. “All over. Every scar, every wrinkle.” His fingers touched Castiel’s cheek, drifting softly, tenderly, running under Castiel’s eyes. “The little bags under your eyes.”

Castiel snorted, turning his face away.

Dean hesitated. “I mean it, Cas. You’re beautiful all over. Even your crooked pinkie toe.”

Castiel looked at him, unsure what he was feeling. “But not the bags under my eyes, though.”

A grin lifted Dean’s lips, showing his teeth. “Yeah, the bags under your eyes.”

Castiel squinted.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Dean grinned.

“They make me look so old.”

Dean pursed his lips, raising a shoulder – then flinching, as his shoulder was still injured. “With age comes wisdom,” he said. “Right?” He nestled close, putting a perfect kiss under Castiel’s left eye, then his right. Both kisses seemed ill-deserved, but still felt good. “Ain’t nobody in the world who learned that better than you, Cas. You started out naïve, and now look at you. You _earned_ these eyebags.”

“Hm,” Castiel frowned, thoroughly unconvinced.

Dean’s grin was dopey now. “Look, man, I dunno. I think they’re cute. Without the droopy eyebags you wouldn’t be _Cas_ , you’d just be... _Ca_.”

“But what if I wanted to get rid of them,” Castiel intoned, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

Voice becoming guarded, Dean asked, “Is that what you wanna do?”

Castiel shrugged. Then nodded, still keeping his eyes lowered. “Someday.”

Dean sighed. “Guess I can’t fight you on that, can I? Your body, your rules, all’a that. But...” He kissed each eye again, lingering for longer this time. “Ain’t the eyebags I fell in love with, Cas. Ain’t the ribs, or the stomach, or the happy sausage, either.” They both smiled; Castiel managed to look back, glad to meet Dean’s eyes. “It’s what’s inside, y’know?” Dean shrugged, bashful gaze on Castiel’s heart, where his fingertips drew a line, two lines: a cross, marking the spot. “But that doesn’t change the fact that – Cas?” He looked into Castiel’s eyes, something supportive in his gaze. “Truth is, I don’t see a damn thing about you that ain’t perfect just as it is. Old man eyebags included.”

Castiel let Dean wriggle close again, putting one more kiss below each of Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel wasn’t sure of his opinions any more. Yes, he wished his eyes didn’t look old and tired. But... so much of that wish was rooted in prerequisites for his old job. Only pretty faces got paid. Only perfectly manicured nails, straight white teeth, flat stomachs.

That wasn’t him any more. He didn’t _want_ that to be him.

He wanted to distance himself from that image, that idea of perfect. It wasn’t perfect any more.

Even Sam had convinced him, he was better _now_ , after months of eating good food, clipping his nails only when they dug into his palms accidentally, after months of working out solely when he jogged to keep up with Meebo for walkies twice a day. If he couldn’t believe himself beautiful yet, he could believe Dean. He could trust Dean.

_I love my eyebags,_ he thought.

It wasn’t true. He’d make it true over time. Someday he’d trust himself.

“Tell me again,” Castiel whispered to Dean, who was kissing Castiel’s fingers. “About the eyebags. How nice they are.”

Dean chuckled, kissing Castiel’s knuckles. “They are. They frame your face, balance your puppy eyes. Seriously – they fit your face just right, man, people probably don’t even notice them.”

“You notice them.”

“Yeah, and I think they’re adorable.” Dean nuzzled happily against Castiel’s cheek. “You got the prettiest blue eyes in the world, Cas.” Watching Castiel’s face, Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s shoulder. “I love them, all right? If you ever need me to say it again, ask me. ‘Cause I’ll tell you, and mean it.”

Castiel swallowed, nodding in thanks. “Okay.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah?”

Castiel nodded again. “My penis would like some attention, please.”

Dean laughed, headbutting Castiel’s shoulder, holding his hand and squeezing. “Sure thing, sunshine.”

He started on his way down, kissing Castiel’s neck, where he suckled for a moment, leaving Castiel incandescent. “Hmm,” Castiel groaned, quickly overtaken by those powerful sparkling feelings that surged inside him every so often.

And once again, those feelings came pounding, swelling in low-down _pulses_ as Dean mouthed against him.

Clavicle: Dean licked him, following up with a kiss. Castiel tingled, glowing like a thousand stars.

Chest, ribs; Dean re-counted them in kisses. Each one made Castiel more flustered, tiny pleasured vocalisations brimming up from within, fingers clenched desperately in Dean’s hair. “Dean— Ahh...”

Dean reached Castiel’s belly, giving out a low drone of noise as he went lavish in his delivery: kissing, suckling, nibbling. Castiel inhaled, groaning under his breath as Dean pressed his nose into the soft part, mouth open, kisses rolling, tender, and wet.

Down, down, down...

“Mm, Cas,” Dean murmured. “Mmm.”

Castiel tensed, shivering. His cock thumped, rock-hard, feeling Dean’s bare chest skimming down, teasing with pressure against his cockhead. He was rewarded with contact, and then nothing. Then another push—!

There was so much boiling in Castiel already, Dean’s thumbs swirling on both his nipples at once – he got breathless, even as Dean reached his hips, he cried out – “Dean— Dean!” and Dean looked up, wondering what the fuss was. Castiel only writhed in a gasping, hot pleasure, just as unsure. Dean was wrapped under his thighs; their eyes were locked, Castiel was bright with self-love that came out of nowhere, and love for Dean, the same feeling over and over and over, _throbbing_ in him—

He realised what was happening as Dean did. Dean only had time to glance down before Castiel yelped— “Ah!”

Dean stared open-mouthed, watching heavy white semen spurt out right before him, catching on his stubbled, dimpled chin. An amazed grin leapt to his face, and he laughed, nosing at Castiel’s cock as it moved by itself, spitting out the last of its emissions.

“Oh,” Castiel whispered, before collapsing, arms at his sides, thighs parted.

Dean chuckled, kissing his cock, and it pulsed in reaction.

“Mmmmmuuhh,” Castiel moaned, patting a hand blindly near his crotch, finding Dean’s head, stroking back through his hair. “Hmmm... Deannn, what did you dooo...”

Dean laughed quietly, kissing Castiel’s hip, then smudging away a bit of come that stuck to him. “Hell knows,” he uttered, slinking back to align his heart with Castiel’s. “But you pretty much just came un _touched_ , and that’s fuckin’ impressive.”

“I...” Castiel huffed, dizzy and disoriented. “I’ve never... done that b’fore...?”

“No?” Dean grinned even wider, pushing his pouty lips to Castiel’s cheek. “Awesome. Score one for me.”

Castiel sighed, relaxing gracelessly, a clumsy grin upon his face. “That was...”

“Kinda special, huh,” Dean murmured.

Castiel peeked up at Dean, where he lay angled halfway over him, one hand caressing Castiel’s cheek. There was so much _love_ in Dean’s eyes.

Castiel smiled gently. “Thank you, Dean. Not just for tonight – for everything.”

There was only one way to describe how Dean looked, at that moment. _Adoring_.

Castiel’s eyes lowered, a finger flicked to indicate sexual reciprocation. “Do you want me to—?”

When Castiel glanced back up, Dean’s gaze held steady, and he simply shook his head, smiling. “I got what I wanted.” He kissed Castiel’s cheek; his skin was noticeably cooler than Castiel’s. “You’re smilin’ and satisfied. Me? Naaah, I’m good.”

He seemed to really mean it, too. Castiel breathed out a “huh” of wonderment.

“Besides,” Dean said, looking down, one hand moving to squeeze the bulge in his panties, then shifting his legs to show off the wet patch, “I had a good time. Look at that.”

Castiel chuckled, setting his loving eyes on Dean’s blush. “I had a very good time too.”

Dean snuggled up beside him, kissing his ear. “You take a nap, Cas. I’mma go make us some popcorn. Fix you a drink. Fire up the VHS player.”

Castiel cackled under his breath. “ _Looney Tunes_?”

“ _Looney Tunes_ ,” Dean agreed. “Then, uh... maybe _Sword in the Stone_? I’m in the mood for a bit of wacky witch magic.”

Castiel smiled in bewilderment at the ceiling. “Hmmmh. I wonder if there _was_ some magic involved between us. Or in some part of our story, at least.”

“Heh,” Dean uttered, shaking his head slowly. “Not saying that shit’s real, but, like... if it was? I hope we never find out about it, Cas. That crap gives me the heebie-jeebies. And before you say it, yes, it’s different when it’s Disney-animated.”

“Right,” Castiel grinned. He yawned, rolling over so he could face Dean, eyes closed.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean spoke slowly, a smile pulling at his lips. “Listen. I got all the magic I’ll ever need, right here. _Right here_ ,” he whispered, kissing Castiel under his eye, then at the top of his cheek. “It’s you. You hear me? You’re my beautiful miracle, Cas.”

“Hm. You’re too sweet to me.”

“You deserve it, dude,” Dean promised him. “You’re all of my wishes come true. Can’t help feelin’ grateful.”

Castiel opened his eyes enough to look back, feeling every kind of happiness rush forward like a tide of sparks, setting fires within him. Each one spread its crackling light in flaming dances, glowing in every colour of the rainbow – and then some. And Castiel was left breathless, consumed by joy. “My beloved,” he whispered, finding air to breathe in what Dean exhaled.

_Beloved._

Slowly, Dean kissed him to sleep.

Sleep came easy; Castiel was spent, and comfortable, and warm all over.

Most importantly, he was safe.

Maybe what they had came at the result of a _little_ bit magic. Sure. But there was something they shared that was more powerful, more forgiving, stronger – less like a cannonade through a stubborn gate, and more like the open sky and all its stars.

They had trust; they’d built it from nothing.

They had joy, and friendship, and each other’s support.

And most powerful of all – deep, deep, _unyielding_ love. It went both ways, in equal amounts. There was nothing in existence more magical than that.


	14. Four Months Later: Moving Forward

Castiel spread his fingers through the softest dog fur he’d ever felt. Golden yellow, thick and plush... He smiled, stroking, moving his palm against the fur’s settled direction. He scritched at the little dog’s collar, pleased when she shut her eyes, like he’d scratched an itch that had been bothering her for days.

All around them, the open-plan play area of the dog boarding kennel bustled with activity. Dogs came and went, tails bumping the large potted plants that bordered all the conservatory walls. Even the most nervous of dogs were excited by the new smells the visitors brought this evening. The visitors themselves chattered in a vibrant hubbub, wine glasses clinking.

Castiel focused on the dog, conserving his energy. Any moment now...

Dean placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he encouraged. “I think everyone’s here. Jody just showed up.”

Castiel gave his beautiful golden dog a final ear-wobble, then stood up, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

He turned around, and for the first time saw how many people had come. Missouri and Jody were over by the doors, shaking hands. Between the entrance to the kennels and the transparent back wall where Castiel stood with Dean, a dozen women mingled, pouring fruit juice into wine glasses, laughing and touching arms as they conversed.

“Ready?” Dean asked, checking with Castiel.

Castiel wet his lips, then nodded.

Dean cleared his throat. Nobody heard, so he looked around, then bent at the waist, snatching something bright blue into his hand. He squeezed it, and it squeaked. _Squeaka-squeaka-squeaka-squeaka!_

When all faces turned his way, Dean grinned, tossing the dog toy back to the glossy floorboards. “Now that I got your attention, uh.” He nibbled his lower lip, gesturing at Castiel. “This here’s Cas. Guess some of you know him real well. Others – hey. Welcome.” Dean cleared his throat again, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Cas, you wanna start?”

Castiel breathed out. “Yes.” He smiled at Clarissa, glad to see her dressed down for the occasion: she wore jean shorts and a white t-shirt with red hems, rainbows over her nipples. “I think, if we could all sit in a circle... There should be enough chairs...”

For a minute, there was a kerfuffle, and the conservatory echoed with shoes and paws and the screeching feet of chairs on polished wood. As it turned out, there were too few chairs: some women happily gave up their places to others, delighted to sit cross-legged on the floor, a dog or two in their laps.

Castiel sat with his back to the aging sun, lilac daylight caressing his shoulders. He looked to his left and saw Sam taking a seat. One chair closer was Dean, his skin gorgeously aglow in the springtime haze. More freckles adorned his face now the days were longer and the sun shone ever brighter.

Meebo ran forward out of a crowd of smaller dogs, and she bumped into Castiel’s knees before flopping at his feet, panting, ready to keep him company. Since Castiel cut the matted mess out, her double-layered Husky fur had never grown back quite the same; her coat remained patchy in places. But she was still the most beautiful dog.

The group settled. Castiel took a breath.

“All of us here,” he began, eyes down, projecting his voice, “have a lot in common.” He looked up, and saw seventeen people who all looked very different, all different shapes, heights, sizes, ages, gender presentations, races; some were dressed in revealing dance clothing, others wore hoodies and running shoes. Castiel smiled. “With the exception of the Winchester brothers on my left – and Missouri and Eileen, of course, our gracious hosts tonight, thank you— And Jody Mills, captain of the local police department... We are all, now or previously, part of the sex trade.”

Castiel took heart from seeing the women shift; they still smiled because of the dogs, but they gave him their full attention.

“I’m hoping this could become a sort of... clubhouse,” Castiel said. “A support group. A place we can talk, and commiserate, and find new ways to move forward after something terrible knocks us back. Whether you’re interested in leaving sex work, have already left, or would like to stay in the industry, I’m hoping we can all support each other without judgement. The point of this is not to encourage others to leave, it’s to make sure we’re doing okay, regardless of _what_ we’re doing.

“I know from experience how emotionally demanding sex work can be. But I also know...” Castiel looked to Dean, then Sam, then to Clarissa on the other side of the circle, “that with the help of truly loving, supportive friends, something as difficult as a sexual assault, or the death of a loved one – or even something as comparatively small, like a stomach bug – the worst days of your life can be made so much easier.”

He swallowed. “Anyway. I... I met some of you at the Yellow-Eyes court trial; hello again. I don’t know all of you, though. Perhaps if we go around the circle – Sam, how do you suggest we do this?”

Sam grinned lightly. “Aha. Okay, well. Hi, everybody, I’m Sam Winchester. I’m a grief counselor; I’m here offering pro-bono counseling for anyone here who needs it. Come up to me after the meeting, I’ll give you my card. Just to start us off: like Castiel said, we’ll go around, say our names. Usually I’d say tack on a fact about yourself, but Cas made it very clear to me that this is to be a forward-thinking group, so we’ll do it this way.” He cleared his throat in a preparatory manner. “Hi, I’m Sam Winchester. And five years from now, my goal is to speak both Spanish and American Sign Language fluently.” He pressed a smile between his lips. “Your goal can be anything. Big goal, small goal. Personal or professional. Jody, you start. We’ll go around anti-clockwise.”

Jody smiled, leaning forward over her thighs, tough hands curled together. Although she’d come straight from work to be here, she’d changed out of her cop uniform: she wore blue jeans and a pinkish-white checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. “Jody Mills.” Her smile was stiff, a tiny frown wrinkling between her eyebrows. “Five years?” Breathing out through her narrowed lips, she uttered, “Hooo, boy.”

She cast her eyes to the wooden floor, looking determinedly at a Pug as it licked its backside. “Tell myself this every year, and somehow it never comes to pass. But, um. Five years... I wa... want to have moved on from my husband’s death. That’s all. Frankly, that’s all I ever want. I get that it makes sense to grieve, you know; he was the love of my life, how can I forget him—? But it’s not about that. It’s about... being myself without him.

“I throw myself into work like he did, I make the cop badge my excuse. Sooner or later I gotta... I gotta give up the badge. Take the work outta the picture. Retire.” She raised her eyebrows, then lifted her eyes. She put on a sad smile, looking at the women around her. “But not yet. Some old girl’s gotta be looking out for the rest of you. Sex work oughta be seen for what it is, y’know? Just a job. Just what you gotta do to put food on the table. And you oughta get the same protections everyone else gets when they go out to work. You don’t have that yet, and I wanna find ways to get you that.”

Jody must’ve noticed a slight ease in tension. Most people were naturally unnerved by a cop in their midst, but now rigid shoulders wilted, and people met Jody’s eyes.

With a bold smile, Jody assured them all, “I spent years of my life taking down the _real_ bad guys. Those Yellow-Eyes, sex traffickers. God knows the number of asshole johns I’ve put behind bars.” Jody glanced at Castiel, then Sam, then around at the others. Then she nodded. “I’ve done wrong by you in the past, and I have a lot to learn. I want to help you in whatever way you tell me is best, and I’d understand if that means sticking it where the sun don’t shine. But... I’m not here to make trouble for you. Just want you to see yourself through, same as I did when I hit some pre-eetty hefty speedbumps in my younger years. I got a lot of support from my friends. Been doing what I do ever since. And heck, I’m still trucking.”

With a deep breath, she straightened. “Yeah. Give it fifteen years ‘till retirement. Five until I find a new hobby.” She cleared her throat. “Now, I know I’ve got no real right to be here. I’ll leave you all to it, ‘scuse me.”

She started to get up, but a soft word from the other side of the circle made her hesitate.

“Please stay.” Castiel looked, and saw the voice came from sixteen-year-old Jen, perched on the edge of her seat like a cat intent on springing, made up with lip gloss and hoop earrings, her doe eyes settling on Jody. “I don’t know a lot of people here. You really helped me at the Yellow-Eyes court trial. I wouldn’t have been able to _speak_ if you hadn’t been there.”

Jody hesitated, eyes darting around the circle. “You got friends around you. I’m a _cop_ , Jen. Regardless of my good intentions, I’m an enemy to sex workers.”

“You’re a friend,” Jen insisted, jaw steeled, brute force in her voice.

Castiel smiled. “I think there’s a lot of us here who understand you’re on our side. Sit, Jody, if just to make Jen feel better.”

Jody waited until some other women gave her nods before she sat again. With a humbled smile, she looked over at Missouri. “How ‘bout you, ma’am? Where’d you wanna be in five years?”

On Jody’s left, Missouri tugged her knitted cardigan tighter around her middle. “Well,” she said with a smile, “I’m Missouri. In five years, boy, I wanna have this dog boarding kennel bigger and better than ever. My dog-carer, Castiel – heya, precious—” She gave Castiel a wave, then remarked to her audience, “ _Lord_ is he an angel. He workin’ hard, designing me something real special to add to this building. And these Winchesters here, they already put in a ton of work – not to mention putting in a fair investment. And are we doin’ some good! They wanted to use this space to help out some folks, and who was I to turn that down?” She chuckled. “I kinda like the thought of all y’all comin’ and goin’ through here, takin’ care of dogs while they take care of you.”

The group rumbled appreciatively, hands reaching for more dogs as they arrived in the circle, stepping on feet with their clumsy paws, bringing toys for the women to throw.

Missouri turned at Eileen to her left. “Well, guess it’s your turn, then,” Missouri smiled.

A long-haired brunette woman with big, warm eyes leaned past Missouri, looking straight at Sam, wearing a cheeky smile. “Hello, my name’s Eileen,” she said, somewhat nasally, “And in five years, I think I want to be having loong, looong conversations in Sign Language with Sam Winchester here.” She winked.

This time the group chuckled: Castiel saw Sam’s face pinkening, and Eileen looked incredibly pleased with herself. Castiel smirked. He’d worked with Eileen for four full months at this dog kennel, and he’d never known her to be such a flirt.

From Eileen, they moved on to the next girl, an anxious-looking stranger with ebony skin, who was obviously underweight. “H-Hi,” she said in a breath. A little Greyhound was curled asleep in her lap, and she stroked it to soothe herself. “I’m Emily. And in f-five years I want to b... be able to walk in heels without worrying I’ll break an ankle.”

“Yeeeeah, tha’s right girl,” hollered another woman from the other side of the circle. Those around her tittered, some applauding, showing their support.

Emily ducked her head and smiled, hiding behind her limp hair.

After Emily, attention shifted to Iran, who wanted to learn kickboxing. Matilda, who wanted to get her pre-teen son into a good high school. Bathsheba, who wanted to stop biting her nails.

Jen spoke quietly. But she knew what she wanted to say, and her words simmered with jilted confidence, gaze lasering into the floor. “After months in Eve’s care, it became so easy. Too easy. Just believing I carry something ‘valuable’ with me at all times, something that could be bought: I’m a ‘virgin’. Inexperience is currency in your world, isn’t it. In five years I want to forget that my inexperience has any _monetary worth_. I just want to get on with my life. Do what I want with my body – sex, no sex. Whatever. I want the worth of a first experience to be determined by me alone, not someone else’s wallet in an auction. Maybe someday I would—” she grinned in amusement, “I’d auction off my ‘virginity’ just so some weedy rich guy throws money at me. But later. When I’m not sixteen and desperate.” She looked around, thrilled by the smattering of laughter that went through the group. “That’s all. Your turn.”

The woman beside Jen gave her a smile. “Clarissa.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, which Castiel knew was a confident-looking nervous gesture, which showed off her fake-diamond ear cuff as a distraction. “In five years... God, where to start.” She smacked her glossed lips together, then looked up, straight at Castiel. “In five years, I want to be so far from this shit that I don’t think about it first thing when I wake up. I wanna—” She breathed out, frowning, eyes full of tears. The corners of his mouth trembled. “I want to be able to trust strangers again. And – I want to read one book a month.”

Disarmed by that last addition, the solemn silence shattered into a gentle laugh, followed by applause. The woman beside Clarissa touched her knee affirmingly.

A small beige-and-brown Pug grunted as it trotted into the centre of the circle, and plopped down, curly tail wagging. Another black Pug joined it, sticking its nose in the first one’s ear. The women cooed at them, laughing, and even Dean gave a rumbly chuckle.

As they went around the circle, the group’s goals varied as much as their names. Some wanted peace for themselves, others wanted excitement, or knowledge. Some, like Zoë, Damien, and Leilani, simply wanted to be more content with the life they already led. They enjoyed sex work, despite its pitfalls. They’d come here for support, and were welcomed warmly.

Eventually the group’s focus neared Castiel: he fretted, buzzing inside, knowing it would be his turn to speak again soon.

A woman named Esme handed off to Castiel with a sly, “Novak? Your go.”

Castiel’s lips parted. In all the time they’d gone around the circle, half his mind had obsessed over what he would say, yet he still hadn’t decided. “Uh... Umm...”

He swallowed, then had to admit, “See, the thing is, I’ve always lived-moment-to-moment, just getting through the next hour, the next day. Recently I’ve gotten to the point where I can see... perhaps a month ahead. Anything more than that seems inconceivable. But, setting aside big plans, or goals, I... I know what I have now that I want to keep.”

He looked down at Meebo, who sat up to smile at him, glad to hear his voice. Helplessly, a smile rose to Castiel’s face, and he had his answer. “Happy,” he said. He put his hand on Meebo’s head, and felt her love flowing through him. “In five years I just want to be happy. For me that means having this dog beside me, Sam as my friend...”

Castiel’s eyes turned to Dean, affectionate swirls blooming in his chest. “And I want to still be in a relationship with Dean. Happy with him... offering mutual support, content that there’s longevity between us.” He smiled. “Yeah, that’s all. Anything else in my life could fall apart, but if I have my family I know I’ll be fine.” He exhaled, then nodded. “Dean, your turn.”

Dean coloured slightly, shifting in his seat. He parted his lips with a swipe of his tongue, eyelashes fluttering as he watched Castiel petting their dog.

“Uh. I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean announced to the group. He hesitated. But then a smile spread on his face, crinkling his eyes, lifting a point at the side of his mouth. “Where I wanna be, five years from now... Heh.” He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently, still smiling. When he released it, his eyes moved to meet Castiel’s. Dean gulped, then said, “Married.”

The group reacted first. Whoops and cheers and whistles cascaded in a block of sound around Castiel, continued _oooo_ s and _awwww_ s extending at the back of his awareness.

When Castiel did finally register what Dean had said, and what it _meant_... he began to blush. He trembled, and his eyes wanted to flee Dean’s intense gaze, but couldn’t. He couldn’t speak, or think. He just smiled.

Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel gently on the cheek. He pulled back, to more wolf whistles and applause.

All Castiel could manage was to slide a hand onto Dean’s thigh, palm-up, accepting his hand to hold.

They remained that way for the rest of the meeting. For much of it, Sam took over, pulling out a whiteboard on wheels, taking suggestions for the kinds of qualifiable skills they could assist each other to obtain. Discussions were had, stories were told, and some tears were shed, but once they realised they’d overrun their hour by ten minutes, the meeting was hastily adjourned, and the group divided with hugs and business cards and promises to come back, and bring a friend. Not everyone would return, but some would.

But not everyone left in the first place.

Sam, Dean, Castiel, Jody, Missouri, and Eileen were still happily entertaining four women, who were too enthralled by the playful dogs and good conversation to go anywhere. The sun was gone, and the night was visibly clouded through the transparent walls of the conservatory. The light from inside illuminated the budding branches and young leaves of the trees in the backyard; the luminance was pleasant and cozy, and that ambience remained cocooned inside, still brewing.

When Castiel saw Meebo trotting around the play area, having stolen a half-deflated basketball from a Great Dane, he was struck with an idea.

He took the damp ball from Meebo, thanked her for the gift, and wiped the drool on his jeans. He gave the thing a testing bounce; it responded well on the hard floor. He began to dribble the ball, bounce, bounce, bounce. The harsh _ptouh! ptouh! ptouh!_ of the ball rebounding drew some attention, from both people and dogs.

Castiel looked up, grinning at Dean. He cocked his head, indicating one tall, white wall of the conservatory, in the centre of which was a proper basketball hoop that Castiel had installed himself.

With an easy swoop of both hands, Castiel shot the ball to the hoop, and at the peak of its arc, the ball sank right through the ring, leaving the chains jangling. The ball bounced lazily as it hit the ground, and rolled straight to Dean’s feet, chased by a pair of Labrador puppies with their velvet ears flapping.

Dean picked up the ball, looking at it. He looked at the hoop. He aimed, and threw.

The ball hit the nearby window, bounced off, and disturbed a potted plant. Dean cringed.

Clarissa ran to grab the ball before Meebo got there. With a huff of exertion, she made a pass to Castiel. Castiel caught it on instinct, running and leaping to dunk it. Chains jangled.

A round of laughter and excitement went through the group. Eileen grabbed Sam for her team, Sam grabbed Castiel. Dean floundered, until Esme took his arm, her scarred face and brown lips pulling into a friendly smile. Dean grinned back, reaching for Missouri, Jody, and the other women. And then Meebo, because she looked enthusiastic.

“ _ROOF!_ ” came the cry from inside that circle. Castiel heard them laugh, and saw them huddle together to discuss tactics.

He was yanked into his own huddle by Eileen, only to find that they weren’t discussing tactics, just petting a dog. Castiel joined in.

Once initiated – by a dropped ball, no less – the game quickly established itself as a grade-A mess: fun, energetic, and lacking any semblance of rules. Dean claimed he scored “two” when the ball was stolen and chewed by the Labrador puppies, and nobody had the heart to disagree. 

Sam was tall enough to dunk the ball with only minimal effort; Eileen favoured passing to him. Dean just tried to impress everyone with ball-spinning and badly coordinated tricks, which – more often than not – ended in him kicking the ball across the conservatory, with a pack of dogs chasing after it.

The place rumbled and squeaked with a chaotic thud of bare feet (heels off) and tough-tread boots on drool-damp flooring. Paws scattered about without care to the game in progress. Every dog wanted to chase the ball, and every human would, at one point or another, be left bending over forwards, out of breath from laughter.

Castiel scored, and scored, and scored, always the one his teammates would pass to. Once, seeing Dean looked hopeful, Castiel feinted a pass to Sam, but pretended to drop the ball in Dean’s direction. Dean leapt on it, and without a moment to plan, shot it in the direction of the hoop. It rebounded, landing in Jody’s hands. Jody passed back to Dean with a shout of, “Go again, kid!”

This time Dean calculated before shooting. Sam had the opportunity to block his throw, but Eileen grabbed his hand and held him back.

Dean shot – the ball rose in a perfect arc – touched the backboard... it circled the goal, teetering on its rim... _blam_! Chain jangling! He scored!

The entire conservatory went wild, cheering, arms up. Jody and Esme rushed to Dean’s sides, lifting him briefly by his thighs in celebration. Dean yelped, unaccustomed to being lifted. He was set back down, laughing, head back.

With a huge grin on his face, Castiel picked up the rolling ball, ready to get back into the game. But Meebo came forward, tail wagging, her heterochromatic eyes intent on the deflated toy.

“Oh, go on, then,” Castiel said, tossing the ball for her. She skidded on the wood as she chased after it, running headlong into an accumulation of other mutts. Sam clapped Castiel on the back, out of breath. “Good game,” he huffed, also slinging an arm around Eileen.

In soft, careful words, Eileen declared, “I think we should let Dean’s team win. He tried so hard.”

Castiel harrumphed, but then grinned anyway. “Agreed.”

As the game had clearly gone to the dogs (in every sense), Dean approached Castiel with a huge grin on his face. He threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and eased him away from Sam, dragging him close to smack a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Nice going, loser.”

“You know you’re terrible, don’t you,” Castiel intoned, still beaming.

Dean’s eyes roamed the group, who were shaking hands and chattering, bending to pet some more puppies. “Yeah,” Dean said in defeat. “But it’s no fun to admit that.”

Castiel gave him a squeeze, arm around his waist. “You’ll improve with practise,” Castiel assured him. He kissed his warm cheek, giving him a nuzzle for good measure. “I have faith in you.”

Dean looked at Castiel, so much life and love in his eyes that it seemed to make him _glow_. And Castiel had no doubt that the same was in his own eyes. As a pair, they reflected each other, and any joy between them only doubled once shared.

Castiel smiled at the floor, taking Dean’s hand as their palms slid together. With his other hand, Castiel touched Meebo’s head, feeling her bristly muzzle nudging eagerly into his palm.

Five years from now was a long time. But just as Castiel had faith that Dean could meet his goals, he also had faith in his friends and co-workers – practically family, now – and, most importantly, he had faith in himself. He knew what could make him happy, and feel safe, and help him recover and grow. For as long as it was possible, he would stick with the good stuff. The good feelings. The good people.

As Abraham Lincoln once said: be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm.

So that was precisely what Castiel did.

**{ ♥ }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I’d love _love **love**_ if you left a comment letting me know what you thought of this fic.  
>  If you’re interested in reading more fics like this, I write a bunch of ‘em and they can all be found **[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=kudos_count&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=almaasi)** ♥ (Also, check out my **[tumblr](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/)** sidebar to find out how you can support me and my writing~ I made a rebloggable fic-related graphic **[here!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/162403504960/what-we-ache-for-93k-nc-17-almaasi-working)** And there's a 600 word coda fic for this story to be found **[here!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/162924403825/i-just-posted-a-600-word-coda-fic-for-what-we-ache)** )
> 
> *clears throat* Four score and seven years ago, our foremothers brought forth the kudos button...


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